


Kilonova

by Wilt



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), PTSD, Porn with too much plot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilt/pseuds/Wilt
Summary: The space between his hands is a hollow one.But still. The sight is better than blood pooled in cupped palms. Or the unforgiving cold metal of a loaded gun, held comfortably, aimed at a living being. Or hands clenched into separate fists with the express purpose of causing harm.Two hands clasped together is still a foundation. No matter how small. He still had this.





	Kilonova

**Author's Note:**

> FINALE SPOILERS. dont read this fic if u havent listened to the finale! i loved the ending kepler got and wouldnt change a thing about it but i was _dying_ to write a fic about him. had to make up a bunch of stuff so dont take this story too seriously etc. etc.!

_'But you said-'_  
_'What I had to, Ms. Young.  
_ _To be where I could make a difference.  
_ _After all, I...am still a person.'_

_  
_-_  
_

____

Warren Kepler wakes from death with a sputter. 

A second later he's choking, trying to suck air into a chest without lungs. An empty cavity full of rapidly developing cells, blooming into organs from atoms from stardust. His throat closes, he convulses, he scrambles to pry open his mouth with shaking hands. Shoves fingers past lips wet with spit to hold down his sandpaper tongue. Eyes bulging, snot spraying, every muscle on fire begging for air. 

His first breath is a sickening wheeze. The next one overflows his vessels with oxygen. His heart thumps to near bursting with overwork. He's sweating now, curled into a ball of spasming muscles and overactive nerve endings. A million fuzzy dots block his bleary vision when he tries to open his eyes. 

He breathes, and slowly his brain allows awareness to drift back to him bit by bit, gauging his ability to handle reality. 

Almost immediately he throws up. Or, tries to. Rolling onto his side, he dry heaves for an eternity, forehead scraping against the floor with each attempt. 

As he coughs up nothing but air and firey pain, a distant voice begins to bellow in his head. It echoes against the walls of his skull and his jaw hurts with the vibration. It calls him by name in a voice he knows. 

Kepler wipes the sweat from his eyes and lifts his head to peer into Eiffel's face.

'Can you hear me?' Asks the figure created in the image of Eiffel. It takes a while for Kepler to realize it's not just his imagination causing the figure ooze and ripple. The room too, a generic white cube with no windows or doors, ripples. 

'... I can hear you. Are you Bob?' His voice feels broken and foreign and misshapen in his mouth.

'Yes.'

'And I... Am I...?'

'You are Warren Kepler. And you have to leave this place.'

'Hold on a second.' He struggles to sit up, lifts his hurting body with shaky hands, and fights back another wave of nausea. 'Go where? What is this place?' He chances another look around the room and finds no features. No color. Nothing. Bob blurs and snaps back into a sharp focus a second later. Kepler's brain tries to keep up with this visual stimuli and doesn't quite manage it. 

'This is Wolf 359. But you must leave. Immediately. We have a task for you.'

'What... what task? And why me?' Kepler's tongue feels heavy and his teeth slow. 

'Go to Eiffel. He is still the root of the process, but we sense that something has happened. Something that will make future contact difficult. You know what to do.'

'What...? No, I... I don't. What are you talking about?'

'You may not know yet. But the information has been given to you. It will sleep in your mind until the time of contact arrives. When that time comes, you will know what to do.'

'What is this process, exactly? How do I know I can trust—'

'We will not harm your planet, or your species. Eiffel has already proven the worth of your kind. You have nothing to fear.'

'H-hold on. Help me understand something; You and I haven't exactly been on friendly terms.' He gestures roughly with his numb mechanical hand for emphasis. 'Why bring back _me_?'

'Out of all the bodies to choose from, yours was the closest to reach.'

'What bodies? Who else died? What _happened_?'

'I do not know what happened. I was momentarily out of commission and unable to witness the fall of your people. Cutter, Pryce, Young, and David are... dead. They will decay into the star eventually, but will serve no further purpose as one of your kind. You, however, need to go home.'

'Home... Is Earth alright?'

'I do not know.'

'Okay. Alright. Fine.' Kepler breathes through his teeth. His stomach churns. 'Bob. Sir. Why bother bringing me back when I can only do more harm than good? As far as you're concerned, I'm just a 'violent troll', remember? Your words, not mine.'

Bob shakes his head. He walks forward and stretches his hand out, palm down, and places it over Kepler's face. His skin eclipses Kepler's eyes and all he feels is fire. Then a cold tidal wave crashes through his mind and in its wake washes up intense feelings of Admiration. Curiosity. Fondness. Heat. Light. 

'I have seen you. You will not hurt Eiffel. He is the only one we are concerned about.'

The hand dissipates and reappears back at Bob's side. Eiffel's eyes stare him down and Kepler is all at once overcome with a feeling that his ribcage has been split open and everything is spilling out. He wants to look down to check, to have a chance to stop the overflow before he is empty, but his neck stays fixed in place and won't budge. Both his hands lay numbly at his sides and drip with sweat. 

'When... When will you attempt contact?'

'In one hundred Earth years.'

'One hund—'

'Now this is where we part ways.'

Kepler tries to tell him that humans don't live that long, and instead finds himself completely paralyzed from head to toe. The walls are buzzing now. Kepler's head spins and spins. His heart is surely on fire. When he opens his eyes he sees his own body in a spacesuit. One that he definitely wasn't wearing a minute before. Another blink and Bob is gone. Before his eyes the room tears apart into nothingness and he is falling, picking up unnatural speed, being forcefully dragged down a tunnel of blinding lights and molten pain. One last echo rattles his teeth before everything goes black.

_Until we meet again._

-

The next time Kepler wakes up he finds himself snuggly locked up in a pair of handcuffs. Slumped over on the floor of a brightly light hallway with a familiar man in front of him. All in all, not too different from the last time. 

'That you, Bob?' Kepler asks. His voice comes out about as you'd expect from someone who'd been forced out an airlock, had his atoms consumed by a star, meticulously reconstructed by aliens and then catapulted across the galaxy faster than light; Congested and about as hoarse as a newborn baby's first scream.

The Eiffel look-alike crouched in front of him shakes his head from side to side.

'No, my name is Doug.' He says, wide-eyed and warry.

'The man, the myth, the legend himself. It's good to see you.'

Kepler wriggles into a somewhat more seated position and tries to figure out why the hallway felt so painstakingly memorable. It was just a hallway, and yet—

'Is this the Urania?' He asks. 'Is this my ship?'

'She's not yours anymore.' Answers Minkowski from beside Eiffel. Kepler hadn't noticed her. Though he's quick to spot Lovelace after that, standing further away with her face hidden behind an airy curtain of hair. Jacobi isn't anywhere in sight. He feels a sharp spike of panic well up from his core, until he remembers Bob listing off the body count. He hadn't mentioned Jacobi among the dead. The feeling doesn't entirely go away but he fixes his eyes on Minkowski and keeps them there. 

'Kepler,' Says Minkowski, voice hard and unwavering like the gun clutched firmly in her hand. 'You're going to tell me what the hell you're doing here. And _how_ you got here.'

'Well you see, our mutual friend Bob sent me. I come in peace, and all that.'

'Bob?' She takes half a step back. 'You mean— Does that mean you're—'

'You're a clone?' Hera asks. 

'That's right. Just like Lovelace.' 

'Why don't I believe you?' Says Minkowski. 

'Betrayal often leads to a lack of future trust. It's elementary psychology, Commander.'

'I don't think you want to condescend me today, Kepler. Just tell me the truth.'

'How else would it have been conceivably possible for me to intercept and board the Urania, Commander, if not for the help of our highly capable extraterrestrial acquaintance? And speaking of that, how _did_ I come in, if you don't mind me asking? Through the window?'

'The airlock.' Says Minkowski. Kepler rolls his head back and feels his mouth stretch into an ugly, twisted grin. 'There was a... rogue solar flare that caught up with us. We weren't able to predict or avoid it. At the same time, a small, strangely shaped pod slammed into us and forcibly docked with one of the airlocks. When we went to check it out, you were inside. Unconscious. For the record, I wanted to jettison you back out there where you belong.'

'That would have been the smart thing to do.'

'Is that a threat?'

'Renée,' Says Eiffel. Kepler swivels his neck to look at him. 'If this is one of the bad guys, why would the... the aliens send him here? What do they want?'

'That's what I'm trying to figure out.' She says, and gives Kepler a pointed look. Kepler ignores it.

'Are you okay, Officer Eiffel?' He asks. 'I know no one is particularly happy to see me but—'

'I'm the one asking questions here, Kepler.' Minkowski's gun taps Kepler's temple, but he doesn't so much as flinch. 'I am taking my crew home. There's not a single thing in the universe that will prevent that from happening. If Cutter couldn't stop me, what makes you think you can?'

'Commander Minkowski. I'm not here to stop you. Furthermore I'm not here to hurt, kill, or maim any of you.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, but your track record makes that a little hard to believe. You'll have to forgive me for treating you like an unknown, dangerous variable.'

'I forgive you. After all, you and I both have blood on our hands. But the situation has changed. You say Cutter is dead,' The words feel weird in his mouth. He forcibly shrugs it off and barrels on. 'I think that means congratulations are in order. Without him, Goddard Futuristics as we know it is, in a sense, over. You won. My tasks are... no longer relevant.' 

'That’s right.’ She says. ‘So what happens now? Are you planning on taking Cutter's spot, or do us all a favor and go into retirement early?' 

'Let me remind you that I said _I'm not here to stop you_. That statement extends to whatever you feel you need to do once we get home.'

'It's too early for you to say 'we', Kepler.'

To that, he rolls his eyes and nudges the gun with his forehead. 

'Lovelace, could you please remind Commander Minkowski what happened after I shot you in the face?' 

Instead of turning around to face him, Isabel Lovelace merely deigns Kepler with an unimpressed glance over her shoulder. 

'There's only one way to find out if reanimation still applies outside of Wolf 359's orbit. It might be worth it, as a science experiment.' She says. ‘We know how much you love those.’

'Do it, then.'

'What?'

'Shoot me. See what happens.' 

Minkowski's face scrunches in disgust. As if he were nothing more but a smear of wet mud on her shoe. Slowly, she retreats her arm and tucks the gun back into her belt. Her eyes flick up to a point above and behind Kepler. After a moment, a tired voice speaks up. 

'Colonel,' Says Jacobi. 'Back there, at Wolf 359... Who... or what, killed you? We didn't find a body.' 

Kepler tries to twist his body to see Jacobi but doesn't quite manage it with the tight handcuffs and sore bones. His fists clench in frustration, but he's quick to calm himself. He smiles and looks at no one when he answers.

'Young did it. Which really surprised me, I didn't think she actually had it in her.'

'Why? Why did she... kill you, I mean.' 

'Because I tried to kill _her_ first. But, as you might expect, I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a quick death. You know how I like to drag out the pain for as long as possible. Unfortunately that gave her enough time to exact her revenge on _me_. Fortunately I'm still alive, and she isn't, so I'd say it was worth it. In any case I know I'll be sleeping well tonight.'

Minkowski throws up her arms and wheels around to pace the length of the hallway. Kepler lets his eyes drift back to Eiffel, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. They lock eyes for nearly full two seconds before Eiffel looks away, and Minkowski marches back into view. 

'Why did you kill Young?' She asks.

'Does it matter?'

Minkowski slides her hand back to the gun. Rests her fingers on the grip and raises her brows at him.

Kepler clears his throat. 'We had a... mere difference of opinion. That’s all.'

Minkowski clicks her tongue. 'What do you think Jacobi? Do you trust him?'

'No— I'm not— I can't,' Jacobi expels a frustrated sigh. 'This is your ship now, Minkowski. It’s up to you to decide who makes it back with us.'

'I'm not going to push him out an airlock, Jacobi. I just want to know if you think he should stay in the cuffs.'

'And that's exactly why you're in charge, not me.' 

'Hey, before we start voting, you still haven't answered the most important question,' Proclaims Hera. 'If we let you come back with us to Earth, Kepler, what do you plan to do?'

'Sign up for a cooking class? A decade of space food almost makes me wish I joined the Navy. Or, you know, alternatively, I could help you dismantle whatever's left of Goddard.'

Minkowski crosses her arms over her chest. 'And why would you do that? The last time we saw each other, I gave you the choice to join our side. You said no. Why the change of heart?' 

'Haven't you asked enough questions, Commander? A little mystery can make life more exciting.' 

'This is the first time you've given us straight answers. It'd be foolish not to take advantage of that.' 

'Fair point.'

'So I'm going to keep doing that. And as a sign of trust, I'm going to ask you to give us the names of every remaining Goddard employee who worked with Pryce and Cutter. Tell us what we can expect to face when we land. Do that, and I'll let you walk off this ship uncuffed.'

 _And unarmed_ , is implied. Kepler gives her a slow nod. 

'It's a deal. But first, Eiffel. Are you okay? You seem a bit dazed.'

Eiffel owlishly stares at Kepler.

'Oh, sorry. I, um, I'm just having a hard time following along. I don't know who you are. The others say I got hit with something like amnesia? I don't remember anything from before a few days ago. Sorry.' Eiffel shrugs and looks away. 

Kepler blinks. Glances at the others for confirmation. 'What? What happened?'

'Pryce got into his head. Literally. She was destroying Eiffel's mind in order to locate Bob's process. The only way to get her out was to— wipe— them both.' Hera answers. 'It was the only way.'

'I see. That... That can't be easy to deal with, Eiffel. I'm sorry.'

Eiffel's shoulders rise even higher. But he gives Kepler half a tight smile and a short nod. Kepler lets the topic drop. 

And he starts telling Minkowski everything he knows. 

Considering how selective Cutter was with the company he kept, there aren't many names to give. It takes significantly longer for Kepler to roll through the different scenarios which they might face upon landing, or even prior to that, when headquarters learns that Renée has radioed in to request landing authorization for a ship that isn't hers. 

Despite that, his arms are only mildly sore by the time Minkowski takes off the handcuffs and makes them disappear into her cargo pants. 

'Okay. This is officially your final chance to prove your worth, Kepler. It's more than you deserve. And you're on some extremely thin ice, so don't make me regret this. I won't hesitate to eliminate you should you even think about turning on us.'

'I don't doubt that, Sir.' Kepler rubs his wrists, stands up and rolls his shoulders. 

Jacobi slips out of the room without a word. Lovelace watches from the shadows without comment.

'Renée? You mind if I stay here and talk to Kepler for a bit? In private?' Eiffel asks. 

'Of course not, go ahead. But if he tries anything, start yelling. Hera will let us know if he so much as breathes funny.'

'I'm watching you, Colonel.' Hera affirms.

As soon as the door shuts behind Minkowski and Lovelace, Kepler unzips his spacesuit and starts wrestling out of the top half of the thick layers of protective fabric. Once free, he ties off the arms at his waist. Eiffel watches with a sharp gaze and mulls over whatever it is he wanted to talk about.

'I'm surprised to see all of you still up and about.' Kepler says, to break the silence. 'Home trips are usually done under cryostasis. I bet you all could use the sleep, after what you've been through.' 

Eiffel takes a deep breath and runs a hand across his face.

'Well, the others wanted to do some planning, for when they land, and I...' Eiffel turns his back to Kepler. He leans up against the wide horizontal window on the outer wall of the hallway. Outside, the infinite galaxy streams by with the illusion of them travelling much slower than they really are. That black abyssal ocean silhouettes Eiffel and makes him look impossibly small, and reminds Kepler of how capable and extraordinary he is. To still be standing here, existing and breathing in the universe, despite all odds. 

'I feel like it'd be a waste of time, for me, to just go to sleep. I know it isn't technically true but I feel like my life just started. I don't want to miss any of this.' He extends his arms to indicate the stars. They float by, spinning and expanding and collapsing. Pulsing and breathing and burning. 'And I've been going through my mission logs— which are these audio recordings I made every day on the Hephaestus. There's so many, and a bunch don't make any sense, but... I can't just not listen to them. You know?'

'Yeah.' Kepler steps closer to the window. 'I think I would do the same.'

Eiffel puts his hands in his pockets and doesn't look away from the starry view. A moment passes in silence while Kepler tries to rub the stiffness out of his neck. 

'So, Kepler?' Eiffel starts, 'Can you tell me about yourself?'

'Now that is a tricky question, Eiffel.' Kepler lilts. 'One that I don't particularly like to give much attention to. But I guess the simplest answer is that I'm Warren Kepler. Former Intelligence Officer, some might even say the best one there ever was. Though I’ve done work for practically every department at Goddard at one point or another, I’m most familiar with being an investigator. For a brief period of time I was your Captain on the Hephaestus. And I'm sure everything Minkowski and Jacobi told you about me is true.' 

'Jacobi hasn't said much about you. Renée and Lovelace say you were one of the bad guys. But you and Jacobi started on the same team, didn't you? And now he's with us. Why is that?'

'Mr. Jacobi is a smart man with nothing left to lose. And I think most people would do what they could to save humanity, if they were in a position to do so.'

'And you weren't one of those people? You really wanted Cutter to go through with his doomsday plan?'

Kepler laughs, and shakes his head. 'You know Eiffel, I could say anything to you right now and you would have no way of knowing if I was telling the truth. So I think it's in our best interests if I don't say anything at all. It's in the past, anyway.' 

Eiffel watches him carefully. 'So what about right now, at this moment? Who are you?'

'Oh, I don't have an answer to that question. I'm not a Colonel anymore, or the Captain of this ship. And Goddard is as good as dead thanks to you and your friends. Hell, technically I'm not human anymore either. Though some may say I was never human in the first place, and they would bring some pretty compelling arguments to the table.'

'They— we— killed Cutter and Pryce. Why does it seem like you're okay with that?'

'It's all in the past.' He persists, with a smile.

'It's in the past.' Eiffel repeats. 'Okay.' Pushing away from the window, he points a thumb over his shoulder towards the door at the end of the hallway. 'There's a movie collection on the Urania, which I guess you already know about since this is your ship and all. But we were going to have a marathon until you, well, crashed the party. Do you wanna join?'

'Sure, Eiffel, I'd love to. Go on and start without me. I'll be there in a minute.'

The door hisses shut behind Eiffel, and in the following silence Kepler clasps his hands together and breathes. A dull, fuzzy, cold anxiety manifests in his fingers and face. The space between his palms is empty and yet he hopelessly expects to find answers there. And there are none to be found.

Because after all, who was he, really? 

He reaches and searches and scrambles for a sense of self and turns up empty. The nothingness that makes up most of the known universe, expanding in every direction outside the Urania's small metal body hurtling through space, is reflected here in his hands. The nothingness between neutrons in every atom. The nothingness in a mind that had long ago rid itself of everything but an all-consuming task. And now, even that was done and gone and held no place here. 

The space between his hands is a hollow one. 

But still. The sight is better than blood pooled in cupped palms. Or the unforgiving cold metal of a loaded gun, held comfortably, aimed at a living being. Or hands clenched into separate fists with the express purpose of causing harm. 

Two hands clasped together is still a foundation. No matter how small. He still had this. 

The world would not end today. That is all that he had wanted. 

That is all that will continue to matter.

\- 

Jacobi is absent for the entire Western Movie Marathon Part 1. Lovelace flicks off the TV in the middle of an aerial shot of two cowboys in the midst of a battle to the death in the desert, without horses or water or any means of getting home. Kepler blinks out of his daze and looks around the dim room to see Eiffel and Minkowski asleep in their seats. Lovelace yawns and stands up, stowing the remote in its little compartment below the TV. 

It takes a considerable amount of effort for Kepler to toss aside his blanket and drag himself up out of his chair. Despite what he said earlier, he doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts in bed just yet, so he makes a detour to the hygiene hall on his way to the bed chambers. 

Sleepily he trudges down the hall and isn't expecting it when, just as he's about to hit the door button for the shower room, it clicks open and Jacobi walks out. Kepler steps back and leans against the wall to let him pass. But the door slides shuts and he remains standing there in front of Kepler, just out of reach. 

Jacobi looks at him with tired eyes and chews his lip. Kepler raises his brows and braces himself for what he can only guess is coming. He misses how much easier it was to get away with everything when he could simply flaunt his rank card, and run operations with a strict 'need to know' basis. 

He had no such excuses now. And no authority to hide behind. 

'Are you really going to go on pretending you did nothing wrong?' Jacobi asks. 

Kepler tries to choke back a yawn and doesn't quite manage it. He lowers his hand and levels Jacobi with a casual look. 'Yes. I am.'

'Do you know how pathetic that looks?' 

'I don't care, Jacobi. If I had to do it all again, I wouldn't change a thing.'

This is what gets a rise out of Jacobi. Kepler sees it get under his skin, sees him tense up, shuffle his weight from one foot to the other, clench his fists and shove them into his pockets. His irritation is a familiar sight. Kepler knows the individual signs by heart. 

'Tell me this; Did you feel nothing when Maxwell died?'

'No. It was hard for me, too. But when the question is 'if i was forced to make a choice between you and her, about who I would rather keep alive’, I would choose you. Every. Single. Time.'

'That is _fucked up_ Kepler. She didn't deserve it!'

'You're damn right she didn't.' Kepler shoves off the wall, stops himself just short of getting into Jacobi's face. 'But _you_ were more important to me. Trying to keep you alive was the only selfish thing I allowed myself to do. If I lost you, If I had your blood on my hands, I think that really might've been the end of me.'

'That's sweet.' Jacobi grinds out. 'But from my point of view, keeping everything a secret because you thought we couldn't handle it was selfish. Dragging us along, all in the name of Cutter's stupid plan, was selfish. Hell, we _gave_ you the option to be on our side and do something right for once in your life, and all you had to say in response was 'goodbye'!?' 

'Never in my life have I claimed to be a good person. Good people don't make it to the top of the food chain, Jacobi.'

'Yeah and how does the world look from up there? Insignificant? Unimportant? Easily replaceable with something _better_? A new world where garbage like me and Maxwell and every other sane human being isn't good enough to be a part of?'

'Jacobi. You can hate me. I deserve it. I really do. But know this; I tried to do what was best for you. If I hadn't, you'd be dead.'

'Yeah? Well I almost wish I was. Almost.'

'Daniel—'

' _No_. Don't call me that. I used to respect you. As annoying and ruthless as you were, I still admired and _liked_ you. And that's what sickens me the most. I would've followed you to the end of the world. But that's because I thought- I thought- that deep down, somewhere in that twisted fucking head of yours, you...'

'I did.' Kepler says, but it comes out too sharp and too loud. '...I did.'

Jacobi shakes his head. Sighs. Deflates. 

'It doesn't matter, Colonel. It doesn't change the fact that you didn't care. About me, her, or humanity. From the very fucking start, you never cared.'

And this is when Kepler starts laughing. He can't help it. A conditioned reaction carved into the channels of his mind through years of deliberate self-wiring. He laughs. And laughs, and laughs. He can't stop. He doubles over. Falls to his knees, then to the floor. He doesn't notice when Jacobi leaves. Just laughs himself sick in the empty hallway. 

Eventually he stumbles, wheezing, teary-eyed, into the shower room. Kepler runs both hands down his face and scrubs his eyes. He breathes. He takes stock of his physical surroundings. Focuses on the little things. 

Directly inside the shower room is a single cabinet for dry shampoo, wet wipes, toothpaste and other hygienics. On the opposite wall are three completely enclosed stalls. One of them is locked, quietly running a cleaning cycle. 

Kepler picks the middle stall, locks it, and starts stripping. There's a locker within the stall meant to hold clothes, which Kepler ignores in favor of making a haphazard pile on top of it. 

The shower pod itself is small. He adjusts it to his height, steps inside, and lets it seal shut around him. 

Because the Urania functioned on a rotational axis, and provided the luxury of simulated gravity, most appliances worked just as they would on Earth. But in the hypothetical event that something would go wrong (as they tend to do in space) and cause the rotational device to break or malfunction, most appliances were required to have the dual-capability of functioning in zero gravity. 

The shower pods are no exception to this regulation. Highly adjustable and built with comfort in mind, the oblong pod ends with a velcro strap around Kepler's neck, leaving his head out in the open while, inside the pod, his body gets jet blasted from all sides by warm soapy water. 

It's therapeutic, almost.

After the drying cycle, the pod unlocks and shifts open. Kepler dresses in the stall and steps back out into the main room. In the reflection of the large mirror directly in front of him he sees that someone had occupied the last remaining stall without him noticing. 

Kepler opens the supply cabinet and sets out a few items on the counter. He washes his face with a soothing disinfectant wet wipe, combs dry shampoo through his hair, brushes his teeth, and smiles in the mirror. 

God, he really does look exactly the same. 

Every single pore, scar, wrinkle, and hair on his body, identical to the previous iteration of Warren Kepler. If Kepler didn't know better, he wouldn't believe that he was... what he was. What he is. 

An alien. 

It sounds so silly, even in his head. He knows better than to picture aliens as green, noseless and bug eyed. He's seen aliens. Stepped foot on planets that housed unique, incomprehensible lifeforms. Established contact with these aliens and acquired technology from them for the betterment of Goddard Futeristics. But none of them had looked like this. Like himself.

Behind him, the other shower pod clicks off. Kepler shuts down his thoughts and leaves the shower room to avoid another possible confrontation with whoever else was in there. There was no one on this ship that he wanted to see. Not even himself. 

There was nothing to gain from dwelling on the specifics of his current existence. There was no reason for it to affect his functionality. 

That's what he keeps telling himself as he walks to his bedroom, and even after he hits the sheets with heavy limbs and a heavier feeling in his chest. He's only able to fall asleep after he gives up on compartmentalizing the last 24 hours, and asks Hera to run his sleeping playlist on the lowest volume. The forced Pavlovian conditioning that links these carefully picked sounds with sleep in Kepler's mind, finally drags him restlessly into a terrible and deep, familiar, darkness. 

Down into a place with no stars, no light, no thoughts. A place entirely severed from reality. 

-

The next day is a welcomed, if a little uncomfortable, change of pace. 

A set of pre-scheduled space warps need to be performed in order to reach Earth as efficiently as possible. The maneuvers are both tricky and rough on the ship, so Hera advises them to strap in for a few hours. 

One by one the crew congregates in the Navigation Center and buckle themselves into shock absorbent seats. Kepler, having been on dozens of space missions, is well acquainted with the feeling of having his guts and bones trying to force their way out of his body to escape the unnatural pull of high speed space travel. The warps are a mere minor inconvenience for him. Eiffel, however, is not so lucky. 

'It helps if you keep your eyes locked onto something.' Kepler advises. 

Buckled into the next seat over, Eiffel whines in acknowledgment (or suffering) and keeps his eyes screwed shut.

'This jump should only take about 20 more minutes now.'

'That's 20 minutes too many.' Eiffel grumbles. 

'Uh oh, looks like we're about to hit an unexpected solar wind storm, folks.' Hera declares. The Urania's high speed engine powers down and the quiet that builds up in its absence is deafening. 'I don't know how bad it'll be, but just in case, please hold onto something and do not at any point unbuckle your safety straps.'

'Oh dear god.' Eiffel whispers. 

'Entering the storm in 3... 2... 1.'

Turbulence smacks into the Urania like a toy car tossed in the path of a bypassing freight train. Kepler hears his shoulder pop before he feels it. Shortly after, Eiffel starts gagging. Kepler struggles to unclip a vomit bag from his safety strap and shoves it under Eiffel's chin.

Kepler helps hold the bag steady while Eiffel empties his stomach. 

'Ghh... thhh... thanks.' He manages, afterward. Meanwhile the Urania continues to rattle and weave its way onward.

'Don't mention it.'

'Ughh. Somehow I feel both better and worse.' 

'Just take it easy. Focus on something physical. Like, hm...' Kepler finishes tying off the vomit bag and shoves it into the netted compartment on the back of the seat in front of him for later disposal. 'Oh, how about finger exercises? Touch your thumb to the tip of each finger on one hand, and then the other hand. Back and forth. You can mix it up by dragging your thumb down to the base of each finger before moving on to the next one. It's good for your tendons, too.'

Eiffel surprises him by actually doing it. 

Kepler watches his hands move, not for the first time caught by their shape. His fingers are long. Rectangular and fluid where Kepler's are square and calloused and clumsy. His palms are wide and his wrists are sturdy. Thin wiry muscles are just barely visible winding up his arms until they slip under the hem of his t-shirt sleeves. Eiffel's profile, lit up by the low blueish lights in the cabin, is still scrunched up in discomfort. His handsome jaw is covered in a dark layer of stubble and above that, his full lips are drawn tight in concentration. With each deep inhale his nostrils flare slightly. Wrinkles etch the corners of his eyes, still shut, with long lashes twitching. They flutter open once the turbulence ends. Dark irises fix themselves to the white ceiling.

Kepler tears his own eyes away from the sight of Eiffel's stretched out jugular and clears his throat. Readjusts himself. 

The Urania coasts free of the storm and smoothes itself out. After a brief moment, the FTL engine powers back on and autopilot regains control. Kepler actually manages to doze off after a while, as time folds and bends around them. He wakes up when Hera turns on the overhead lights and announces the warp manoeuvres have come to an end. 

'Okay folks, that's it for today.' She says. 'Thanks for your patience. You are now free to move about the ship.'

'Thank you, Hera. You did great.' Minkowski assures her, and is the first out of her seat. She marches straight down the aisle and corners Kepler with his hand still on the release latch for his seat buckle. She's prepared more questions for him about Goddard, and says his cooperation is mandatory. Lovelace comes up close from behind Kepler, still not trusting him to give answers freely without the threat of violent force, and escorts him from the Navigation Center. Kepler follows her without a fuss, and obliges them with as much truth as he can provide. 

At the very least, the interrogations come as a welcome distraction. 

-

Kepler is having a nice breakfast of black coffee and scrambled eggs when Eiffel falls into the seat on the other side of the table. There's a sandwich in one hand and Jacobi's ancient MP3 player in the other. He doesn't remove his earbuds, so Kepler is content to settle back and simply watch him over the rim of his canister. 

Rocking his signature eye bags and perpetual 5 o'clock shadow, Eiffel mechanically chews his food while looking half-asleep and miles deep in a dream. The Goddard Futeristics logo on his shirt catches the light along with Kepler's eyes. He carries dozens of identical Goddard T-shirts in his own closet, they all do. But he wonders how Eiffel feels wearing it now. He wonders if the words have any meaning to him at all. Kepler, so used to dressing himself in a lie every morning, wasn't put off by the same logo branded on the back of his jacket. But where Eiffel had no recollection of working a day in his life for this company, Kepler had years of his life tied solely to this job. Over a decade, in fact.

 _At least the shirts are comfortable_ , Kepler thinks, and downs the rest of his coffee. 

Eventually Eiffel notices Kepler idling after having finished his breakfast, and tilts his head in a question. Eiffel's face, stuffed with his club sandwich, is no longer skin and bone. The hair on his head is coming back, too. It sticks up in frizzy curls that defy gravity, and that is just another evident factor of Eiffel's tenacity.

Physically, there's nothing left to remind Kepler of the decaying man he met on the U.S.S Horrible Unending Nightmare. Nothing but his memories of that day. 

Kepler answers Eiffel's silent question with a shake of his head. 

He turns the empty canister over in his hands and is hit with the unnerving realization that he has no current task or mission to be performing. His years-long mission with Goddard is complete, and there will no one to report to. There will be no debriefing, no filing of reports, no payout. And on a smaller scale, the other members of the current Urania Crew unanimously agreed to not allow him to participate in any ship maintenance activities. 

He is entirely without purpose.

For the first time in his life Kepler is faced with the jarring sensation of having entirely, terrifyingly, idle hands.

Simply for the sake of giving himself to do, he stands up, and gets to work on making another cup of coffee. 

-

The day before their estimated time of arrival on Earth goes by in various levels of tense anticipation. For the most part Kepler passes the time in the observation deck. Minkowski, having extracted every bit of useful information from Kepler as possible, lets him have this. Or maybe she has her own solitude to seek out and fester in, as they inch closer to home and the consequences that await them there with each passing nanosecond. 

He emerges out of the observation deck only once Hera confirms Jacobi's location is not anywhere near the dining sector. Lovelace enters the kitchen just as Kepler is finishing his dinner and barely glances at him in greeting. Curious, he tries to strike up conversation about her future on Earth, but she shakes her head before he can get all the words out and deliberately keeps the kitchen island counter between them as a barrier. Kepler concedes to finish his dinner in mutual silence, and only breaches the island barrier to clean up after himself. 

Afterward he resolves to go to bed earlier than normal to ensure he wakes up properly rested for whatever tomorrow will bring. In the bedroom wing, all of the doors are shut except for one. Kepler slows his pace as he approaches the doorway. His ears perk up at the sound of Eiffel's voice. 

Sprawled on top of his crisp white bed sheets, with one arm thrown behind his head, lays Eiffel. On the desk at the foot of the bed is a clunky tape player. One of Eiffel's communication logs currently plays on a low volume.

Eiffel quickly notices Kepler's presence hovering in the doorway and rocks into a sitting position to pause the tape. 

'Sorry, is this too loud? I just don't like how small this room feels with the door closed.'

'No, you're fine. I was just on my way to bed, and wanted to check up on you before I do that. How are you holding up?'

'I'm fine. I know you guys are worried but you really don't need to keep asking. I'm alright, really.'

'That's good to hear.'

'No, well, that came out kind of harsh. Sorry.' He sighs and shoves both hands through his hair. For all intents and purposes, Eiffel most certainly does not look like the pinnacle of health and well-being. But Kepler wouldn't expect him to be, so instead of pressing the issue he changes his approach. 

'No hard feelings, Eiffel. Are you excited to return to Earth tomorrow?'

'More nervous than excited, I'd say. I just don't know what to expect.'

'The crew will help you get sorted out. I won't lie to you, it won't be easy. But your friends will be there to assist you.'

'Yeah... they've made sure to make that clear. But it's still a little scary.'

'I think we're all a little scared to go back.'

'Even you?'

Kepler smiles. 'Of course. But don't tell anyone I said that.'

'But how do you deal with it? The fear?'

Raising both hands, Kepler indicates a spacial width of about a foot. 'I crush it,' He says, while closing the gap. 'I make it as small as possible, and I go on with my day. Fear isn't a bad thing by itself. Not necessarily. After all, it _is_ a self preservation instinct. Fear can be useful in the right situations, and only becomes a problem if it grows large enough to prevent you from acting rationally.'

'I don't know how to crush it.'

'Neither did I, at one point. It takes practice. In the meantime you utilize the adrenaline that comes with it, or build up other factors to outweigh the fear. Is there anything you're looking forward to on Earth?'

'Well, yeah. Just seeing it is one thing. And... I want to meet my family. I want to build new memories there.'

'Are these goals important to you? Are you willing to suffer through a period of uncertainty in order to get to a point where you can achieve these goals?

'I think so.'

'Then you'll be fine. I promise.'

Eiffel looks far from convinced. Kepler crosses the threshold and takes the chair by Eiffel's desk. He sits in it and crosses one leg over the other. 

'I wouldn't suggest relying on them forever, but distractions can also be pretty useful. Do you want to watch another movie?' He offers. 'I have a secret romcom stash hidden away that I'm willing to share with you. Just this once.'

'No, I— That's okay. There's still some things I'd like to sort out in my head before tomorrow.'

'Anything I can help with?'

'Actually...' Eiffel takes a deep breath and expels it all in one go. 'There's something that’s been, well, on my mind. Involving you.' 

'Oh?'

'I don't mention you in my logs very much. I mean, I know you brought me back to the Hephaestus with Jacobi and Maxwell, and I know what you did to Lovelace. But there isn't much information on what I really thought of you. Not like with the others. I had a lot to say about them. And to be fair, there are way less recordings from after you joined the picture, compared to before. But it still stood out to me as being weird.'

'What do you mean, exactly?'

'I mean— I don't know. Like, it's weird that I didn't talk about you as much as I reported about the others, right? Maybe there's a special box of Kepler Logs I stored away somewhere but... if that's the case I hope I never find them.'

Kepler crosses his arms. 'And why is that?'

'Because I can form my own opinion of you. Without any bias of what _he_ thought.' Eiffel jerks his head at the tape player on the desk. 'These tapes are full of a life I feel doesn't belong to me. Connections, friendships, memories,' Eiffel swallows, looks down, clasps his hands. Unclasps them. Rubs them on his knees and leaves them there. He looks back up at Kepler. 'They belong to the old Eiffel. I'm just a guy wearing his skin. Using his voice. Using his name. And the others, Renée and Lovelace, they said I can take my time deciding who I want to be. But I know it's hard for them. And there's nothing I can _do_ about it.

'His personal logs are the hardest to listen to. But I think I can learn from them. The old Eiffel had a lot of things to say, but he kept most of it to himself.'

'I would argue that the old Eiffel spoke his mind even in the worst of times.'

'But he didn't say the things that mattered. I want to change that.' 

Kepler opens his mouth to reply and finds no words. 

'Renée told me about what you did, Kepler. About how you kept your secrets and gambled with all our lives. But we're alive, we're going home, and you've been nothing but honest since we met. I _dont_ know how the old Eiffel felt about you. And it doesn't matter. Because unlike with the others, I can start.. brand new with you. And I like that idea.' 

'But, _I_ knew _you_. I have my memories and my feelings about the old Eiffel. That doesn't bother you?'

Eiffel raises his shoulders. 'Not really... The way I see it, you and me, we both died that day.'

'Heh, I never took you for a morbid man.'

'It's not morbid. Look, we both got wiped clean that day. In different ways, sure, but we can't be exactly who we were before.'

'Bob's clones are pretty damn well perfect as far as I can tell.'

'But do you really feel like the same person? 100%?'

'Yes. I do.'

Eiffel's shoulders drop and he glances back over his audio logs, strewn across his desk with little white labels. Kepler sighs through his nose and pushes hair out of his face. 

'But I wish I didn't.' He admits. 'I wish something was different. I think it'd be easier that way. But I still have this mechanical hand that itches. I still have the same dreams that make me wake up in a cold sweat, and I still can't stand the taste of artificial chocolate.'

'You mean those little bars in the cafeteria? I may or may not be hoarding a few in my room.'

'Oh, Eiffel, you are going to lose your mind when you taste real chocolate.' He clears his throat. Rubs the side of his nose. 'The thing is, I can't leave behind all that I've done and all that I am. Couldn't even if I wanted to. But I don't exactly have anything to come home to, either. So maybe starting fresh isn't a bad idea after all.'

'It won't hurt to try, right?'

'Exactly. Is that all you wanted to talk about?'

'One more thing. Is it okay if you and I stay in contact? On Earth?'

'Oh, are you asking for my number?'

Eiffel's face turns a little pink. Kepler's stomach drops to his feet. 

'I mean, sure. Yeah. If that's what you want. You and me. In contact. You got it.'

'Cool.'

'Yup. Cool.' Kepler pushes himself from the chair. 'Well I'd better get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, and all that. Don't stay up too late.'

'I won't. I'm glad we talked, by the way.'

'Me too, Eiffel. Have a good rest.'

''Night, Kepler.'

-

Ten hours later they congregate in the cafeteria. Immediately it's evident that not everyone had the most restful sleep. 

For the most part each of the crew members keep to themselves, and a solemn silence hangs in the thick emptiness between them. Kepler knows that they all have their own thoughts to settle, their own emotions to collect and store away. Personal baggage to pack into mental suitcases for a safe journey home. Kepler downs two canisters of piping hot coffee and observes.

Seated at the farthest point away from Kepler and picking at a colorless, yet nutritional, breakfast, is Jacobi. Kepler watches him as he eventually advances past simple grunts to verbal answers in response to Lovelace's attempts at small talk.

Jacobi fidgets. He broods and releases the tension with his hands, by spinning his utensil and pushing his food around the plate. He cracks his knuckles and taps his fingers against the table. He sits with his back straight and chin raised and not once does he look in Kepler's direction. 

Directly beside Jacobi, Minkowski looks like her mind is fixated on a place hundreds of thousands of miles in the future. Like she really believes her reality can be shaped by beliefs as long as those beliefs are strong enough. A solid crease forms between her brows and stays there. 

Lovelace, seated in front of them, is the calmest of them all. Being the only one who looks like she actually slept for more than an hour, she initiates conversations with both Jacobi and Hera. Kepler knows that level of calmness wasn't easily earned, and is both intimidated and soothed by it. 

Eiffel, unable to sit still, tries putting on a movie. But not even he seems to pay much attention to it. He flits from corner to corner until he falls into the seat beside Kepler. Under the table, his leg bounces restlessly. 

Kepler tosses him a bar of Space Chocolate. 'What's on your mind, Eiffel?'

'Are you bribing me with delicious snacks?'

''Delicious' is subjective. And no, I'm not. You don't have to open up if you don't want to.' Kepler takes a sip of his coffee. 'It's just an option.'

Eiffel toys with the packaging but doesn't open it. He draws himself in and plants his face on the table. 'I'm starting to freak out. I was freaking out before but now it's _really happening_. The others all have lives to go back to. Homes. Families. Friends. I... don't. Not really.'

Kepler turns his canister over in his hands, and watches reflections warp across the stainless steel surface. 

'I'll let you in on a secret, Eiffel. Most people who make it to space are the kinds of people with complicated homes or family issues. They're the kinds of people who grew up desperate for ways to get away from it all. The job practically demands us to be that way. Of course it isn't true for everyone. But it's a common enough pattern.' 

Eiffel lifts his head with some effort and fixes his eyes on Kepler.

'Lovelace offered to let me stay with her, but I can't decide If I should actually take her up on it. I feel like I'd be intruding.'

'You wouldn't. She considers you a friend. Helping each other is what friends are for. You aren't a burden to her.' 

'And you? Are you a friend?'

'I think I've got a long way to go before I can earn your friendship. I'll start by making sure you all make it home in the next twenty-four hours. Then we'll see what happens, okay?'

After they've all eaten as much as their stomachs will allow, Minkowski leads them all up to the armory and together they arm up, count bullets, strap on kevlar vests, and sync up their radios. Kepler and Eiffel remain entirely without weapons. Being a man with extensive training and experience killing with just his bare hands, Kepler isn't too upset about the absence of a gun. 

Eiffel empties a fairly large tool box and, with Hera's help, goes off to load it up with physical hard drives full of his communication logs. 

They spend the rest of their time at the front of the ship, in the Navigation Center, watching through the curved slanted window of the cockpit as Earth drifts into view and grows from the size of a grain of salt, to a penny, to a soccer ball. 

At 4:43 PM CST, they receive a communication hail from Earth-Space ATC. Minkowski opens the channel and they all crowd around the console.

_'Please identify yourself and state your authorization code.'_

'Commander Renne Minkowski, piloting the U.S.S. Urania.' She says, and relays the code Kepler provides. They hold their breaths in the long minute that follows. 

_'Authentication accepted. You may enter orbit and await my signal to begin your descent. You will be docking on Rail B. This channel will remain open for further assistance. Please standby.'_

Half an hour later, once they've come close enough for Earth to entirely fill the view through the window, Hera advises them to buckle their seatbelts and guides Minkowski to raise the head of the Urania, and fall into the grip of Earth's orbit. 

_'Okay Minkowski, slow down your trajectory by 17%. That's better. Begin your descent in approximately 4 minutes.'_

The deep blue of the Pacific Ocean looks almost close enough to touch as they drift within the Earth's exosphere. Kepler feels both like a massive titan, and unimaginably tiny. Slowly, the ship dips into a bed of clouds as they pass through Earth's stratosphere at a gentle angle. Turbulence hits them hard but Minkowski maneuvers them through it with ease. 

When the clouds part, the brown and green expanse of North America rushes to greet them. California passes below, followed by the orange tinge of Utah and Arizona. Colorado's mountain regions are the final landmark before everything quite suddenly flattens out, signaling their arrival in Kansas, where Goddard Futuristics awaits. 

Across the Earth’s surface, nighttime is a star-speckled cloak that reaches for them in a perfectly smooth curve. 

They fly past the threshold and in mere minutes they hone in on their landing coordinates. Minkowski makes sure to announce this over the communication channel, despite ATC no doubt tracking their precise position and trajectory.

'We are approaching the landing rail. Estimated contact in six minutes.'

_'Slow down an additional 20%. Your alignment looks good.'_

'Two minutes.'

_'You may now extend your docking module. We're all ready for your approach.'_

'Primed for docking. ETA in 5...4...3...2...1.'

The ship jolts when it connects to the powerful magnets of the landing rail. It doesn't feel unlike the landing of a commercial airplane, if this were the pilot's first flight, and the runway was far too short for a slow and steady stop. The Urania does, however, come to a stop at bottom of the magnetic rail. 

_'The ship has been locked in and stabilized. Welcome back to Earth, crew of the Urania. It's good to have you back. We'll send a lift to airlock 3 to get you down, you may begin to make your way there.'_

'Acknowledged. Thank you for your assistance.' Says Minkowski. After that, the connection goes offline. A chorus of clicks fills the air as they each unbuckle their seatbelts and stand up with unsteady legs. Now it is Goddard HQ that seethes in the view from the window. Gray and concrete and unnatural. 

Minkowski takes a deep breath and looks at each of them. No one speaks. Her gaze lingers on Eiffel. She steps forward to grip his shoulder. 

'Welcome to Earth, Eiffel. I hope you'll like it here.'

Eiffel glances out the window and back at her. In his left hand he holds his tool box of memories. He nods and squeezes her shoulder in return. 'Thank you... for bringing us back.'

'It was my pleasure. Now let's get off this damn ship.'

She leads them down through the guts of the ship to airlock 3. At the electronic door panel, she freezes with her hand midair.

'Hera, thank you for everything you've done. You've been an invaluable member of this crew, and you can be proud of all you accomplished. We wouldn't be here without you.'

'I don't know if that's true—'

'It is. And now I want you to take a well deserved rest. Power down the ship and put yourself into sleep mode. I'll come back for you soon, I promise.'

'...Okay. I know you will, Commander. Good luck out there.'

'Rest easy. You've earned it.'

Within just a few minutes, the ship plunges into a total deafening silence. Minkowski waits for the Urania to entirely power down, and fall into an orange-hued darkness lit by emergency lights, before she begins twisting open the manual lock.

The thick heavy door swings aside with ease and opens to a narrow white tunnel. It takes half a second for Kepler to recognize the armed SI-4 agent standing five feet away and another second to push his body to react. He darts past Minkowski and strikes the man firmly under the chin with the heel of his palm, slams his neck against the wall with the other hand, and swiftly disarms him. Kepler swings his newly acquired handgun against the agent's head and lets his body drop with a sloppy thud. The gun gets shoved into the back of his pants as he turns back to the others and jerks his head toward the end of the tunnel. 

'Let's mosey.' He says.

Jacobi is the only one unfazed. He steps past Kepler and leads the others onto an elevator-like platform. Minkowski eyes Kepler's gun but refrains from commenting. Jacobi closes the doors and presses the button to send them down. 

The entire far wall of the lift is a glass window. Outside is a scene of black and white. The night sky shines purple-gray with the 24-hour fluorescent light fixtures glowing all over Goddard Futuristics HQ. Several stories below is a chart of smaller lights that spell out landing guidelines along the tarmac. Directly below the lift, in a sea of flood lights, is a small crowd of black-clad security guards. More SI-4 agents, no doubt. Lovelace starts to reach for her gun but Kepler stops her with a shake of his head. 

'Don't raise your guns yet. We're outnumbered. They'll shoot to maim if they see we're armed.'

'How do you know they won't shoot anyway?'

'Because that's my ship you just landed. They only sent one man up to greet us, which means they don't think we're a threat. Yet. They're going to want answers about Cutter, and they're going to expect me to give them. They won't know that I've defected.'

'So now you want to negotiate?'

'I want to ask for a favor. The head of security and I go way back. He still owes me for this one time in 2013 when I—'

'Fuck that.' Lovelace raises her pistol and jabs it against Kepler's head. Kepler lifts his arms up just as the doors open.

No one speaks in the following seconds. 

Kepler spots the head of security, Monroe, in the middle of a semicircle of special ops armed to the teeth. He gives him a small wave. 

Monroe takes a heavy step forward, sliding his hands to his belt. He observes their party with squinted eyes and a crooked frown. 

'What is this?' He asks in a grizzly monotone. His gaze digs into Kepler's skull. 

'A hostage situation.' Lovelace answers. 

Monroe spits on the ground. 'And? What do you want?'

This time Minkowski speaks up. 'We want to have a talk with the president of Goddard Futuristics. Face to face. Give us a safe escort to his office and no one will get hurt.'

Monroe pretends to think about this for a minute. Twists his head from side to side, even scratches his head for good measure. Then he clears his throat. 

'No can do, missy.'

'Then we'll shoot one of our hostages.' Minkowski's voice drops twenty degrees. Kepler glances to his left to see Jacobi in a similar situation as himself. 'Starting with Colonel Kepler.'

This gets a chuckle out of Monroe. 'What, these losers? I'm sorry if you thought their lives meant something to me. They're old news. Cutter's been working on a new group of agents. Better ones. Just recently took them out on a super important mission, in fact. You kids are gonna be detained for questioning. You can come quietly or we can force you. The choice is yours.'

'I thought you said he owed you.' Lovelace growls in his ear. Kepler shrugs. 

'He does. I never said he was a man with morals.'

'Cutter is dead.' Minkowski proclaims. 'And so are his super soldiers. These two losers are the only ones left.' 

Kepler grins at the look on Monroe's face as the words sink in. Minkowski continues.

'We will give you Kepler if you agree to escort us to the President.'

Monroe scrubs his mouth. Shuffles on his feet. Puffs his chest out. 'I don't believe you. Cutter can't be—'

'It's true Monroe.' Kepler drawls. 'Now I'd really like to not get shot in the face today, sooo...'

'Hand him over.' Monroe barks. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and avoids the astounded glances from his men. 

'So you agree to give us safe passage to—'

'Yes yes safe passage. To see the president, I heard you.'

Lovelace gives Kepler a hard shove and he strides out of the lift. Kepler smiles at Monroe as he walks by him. The SI-4 agents get split into two groups. One in the front and one in the back, with Minkowski and her crew nestled in the middle. Kepler stays close to Monroe at the very front. 

They escort Minkowski and Co. off the tarmac and into one of the supply hallways. There's a split at the end of hall. To the right is a stairwell that leads to the light rail platform that would take them to the main office buildings, and the location of the President. To the left is another featureless hallway that would eventually lead to nothing but storage units. Monroe turns left. 

Kepler rolls to a halt at the junction. 

'Hey Monroe?' He calls. 'Are you lost? You're going the wrong way.'

Monroe swaggers to a stop and turns around with the careless speed of a snail. He quirks one corner of his mouth up into an ugly grimace. 

'This is the right way, son.'

'Ha ha, no it's not. This just leads to the storage wing. If you were planning on killing these nerds in a quiet undisclosed location, I would've made it less obvious.' He says in his loudest, most obnoxious voice. 

'This is a shortcut.' He insists

'Are you lying to a superior officer?'

''Superior' is subjective, at this point. Wouldn't you agree?'

'No, I wouldn't. I outrank you.'

'Only on paper. You're just an intelligence officer, and a lousy one at that. You know, there were talks about you being demoted?'

'No, I didn't know. Because while you were down here running your cute little boot camp and spreading gossip, I was up there,' He juts his finger at the ceiling, 'In space, on a mission so grand that Pryce and Cutter themselves had to get involved.'

'They wouldn't have had to get involved if you were even slightly competent. Now shut up and follow.'

Kepler sighs and absolutely does not follow. 

'There are exactly two people I answer to at this company, Monroe. Just so happens, they're both dead. And I don't think even _they_ have the ability to speak from beyond the grave. By default, I am now the highest ranking Goddard Futuristics Personnel alive, and you will not speak to me that way.'

' _Sir_ ,' Monroe grinds out. 'What are you doing?'

'I'm trying to get these good people to see the President.' He gestures at the small crowd behind him. 'After all, you agreed to carry out their demands. Now _do your job_.'

'What is this? What in God's name is this, Kepler?'

Warren Kepler sheds his entire sense of self. Rolls it off his shoulders, lets it drop to the floor, unseen, insignificant. The resulting emptiness comes easy to him, fits his bones better than his own skin. Muscle memory guides the cock of his gun. He steps forward, bares his teeth, and speaks through them. 

'What the fuck does it look like, jackass? This,' He releases the safety on the gun. 'Is **Mutiny**.'

He hears the echoing clamour of the other agents raise their rifles and prepare to fire. Monroe doesn't flinch. He stands very still and glares at Kepler. Then, the shaking sets in. His face turns red and he churns his jaw. Grinds his teeth like pebbles.

'Take us to see the president, Monroe.' Kepler asks again. Nicely. 

'I couldn't... even if I wanted to, Kepler. He's not here.'

'What do you mean?'

Monroe speaks very carefully. A prominent vein in his forehead makes its appearance. 'He's not... on the premises. He's away. On vacation. In Bosnia.' 

'Oh now that's an interesting bit of information. Did you finally decide to be useful?'

Monroe steps forward and moves Kepler's gun down with two thick fingers. He gets right into Kepler's face.

'I don't know what you're trying to do here. You've always been a mess, but this is just pathetic. It's unfortunate that Cutter is no longer with us. But that just means he's not around anymore to clean up after you, Sir. And this little stunt of yours- this temper tantrum- isn't cute. It never was.'

'Well it's a good thing you aren't my type either, Monroe.'

Monroe gets even redder. Kepler sees the whites of his eyes around each iris. The large hand holding down the barrel of his gun shakes. Then he says a word. A word Kepler doesn't like very much. He towers over him and spits it into Kepler's face. 

Kepler shoots him in the gut. Remembering his mistake with Rachel, he shoots him again through the heart. His eyes don't linger on the twitching corpse. He looks at the faces of the other SI-4 agents and tries to shake some of the blood from his hand. 'Did anyone else _really_ hate that guy? I've been wanting to do that for years.' 

A few of them shuffle awkwardly. Others lower their guns and abandon their offensive stances. Someone spits on Monroe's body. Lovelace groans. Jacobi wheels away in exasperation. Minkowski grimaces and Eiffel stares at the blood, face slack, gaze distant. Kepler intercepts his line of sight. 

'Now then, is the President really in Bosnia?' He asks the general vicinity of agents. They nod. The man who spit wipes his mouth and says 'Yes Sir.'

'Jesus. Now what?' Says Minkowski. 

'That just makes things easier. These boys will escort us to the Office Wing. I'll take you to the archives. Then you should have everything you need.'

'You can really get us into the archives?' Asks Jacobi. 

'If my ID card hasn't been revoked, yes. And even if it has, breaking and entering has never failed me before.'

'All right then. Let's get a move on.' Says Lovelace. 

Two of the agents stay behind to deal with Monroe's body. The rest of them shuffle up the stairwell and cram into the next railcar that comes by. It's a quick ride to the central offices. Kepler spends it trying not to smear blood on anything. 

They exit the railcar right at Goddard's main entrance. From there it's a short walk to the central elevators. The front desk receptionists eye them with apprehension but aside from them and the janitors there's no one around in the office lobbies at this time of night. Kepler presses the call button for the middle elevator, and addresses the remaining SI agents gathered. 

'You boys did good today. I have just one last job for you. Guard these doors. No one is allowed to go down, besides them. And once they come back up, they will be free to leave the building. Unharmed, and without questions. After that, you're to be formally relieved of your duties. There won't be any need for SI units at Goddard anymore. I'd recommend seeking employment elsewhere, or applying for an entirely different position. I, Warren Kepler, would be happy to be a reference if you need it.' 

Each of them give him a genuine salute and a chorus of 'Thank you, Sir's' before lining up in formation to either side of the elevator. 

The elevator doors glide open and Kepler slips inside to swipe his employee card in the reader. He selects the last, unmarked button and sighs in relief when it lights up. Then he stands in the elevator doorway and ushers the others inside. 

'My card can get you down to the archive floor, but the actual entrance is locked off to everyone but Cutter himself. Fortunately, like most things, you can get around this with some skillfully placed explosives. That's where you come in, Jacobi. But first you'll need to cut off the power so you don't set off the security alarm. If you set off the alarm you will get trapped down there. Indefinitely. So to avoid that, get off the elevator at subasement 7. This will bring you to the maintenance floor where you'll want to turn off all the electricity, including the backup generators. You'll only be taking out the power for the office wing, so you won't be causing any irreparable damage to the other sectors. Probably. After all the power is out, climb down the maintenance ladder in the elevator shaft to the archive floor. It's about a 40 foot climb though, so be careful. Then simply blow open the doors, and have at it.

'The rest is up to you guys. Whether you want to destroy the archives or release them to the public; The choice is yours.'

Minkowski takes half a step toward Kepler. 

'Kepler, what about you? You're not coming with us?' She asks. 

'No Commander, I do believe this is where my road ends. There's nothing left for me here at Goddard.' Kepler pulls his gun out and disarms it. Then he hands her the parts. She takes them cautiously. 'I trust that whatever decision you come to about the future of this establishment will be a fine and honorable one.'

Lovelace scoffs and spins her flashlight. Minkowski stows the parts in her pockets. 'Where do you go from here?'

'What else is there? I'm going home.' He shrugs. 

After some time, Minkowski gives him a short nod. Then she looks over Kepler's shoulder. 

'Eiffel? What about you?'

Kepler looks behind him to see Eiffel still lingering outside the elevator. With his free hand he scratches his cheek and looks away from them all. 

'Actually Renée, I don't know if I wanna go down there with you guys. It's all a bit much, to be honest. And if it's okay... I'd rather stay up here, or something?'

'Um, sure. Yeah, of course, Eiffel.'

'Or, I could take you home with me?' Kepler offers. 'If you want to. Technically you're still under the custody of Goddard so you'll have a hard time checking into a hotel or doing much of anything until you're a free man of the law. The paperwork will take a while to sort out, so in the meantime you'll have to stay with one of us.'

'There's a couch at my place if you don't want to stay with this sociopath.' Says Lovelace. 

'No, it's fine. I'll go with Kepler.'

This surprises everyone. Including Kepler. He shoves bloody hands into his pockets and clears his throat. 'Well, okay then. We'll be going now. Godspeed to you brave little anarchists.'

Kepler slides away from the elevator and finally lets the doors shut. 

From there, he starts walking in the direction of the astronaut personal storage rooms. Eiffel keeps pace with him. The receptionists try to watch them without being too obvious about it, which only has the opposite effect. Kepler flashes his teeth at them. They look away and hide red faces behind curtains of styled hair. 

'So Eiffel, are you still determined to play the honesty game?'

'Sure. It's not like I have anything to hide.'

'Mmm. Then I hope you won't mind me asking why you agreed to go with me instead of waiting here for your friends?'

'I just... don't want to be alone right now.'

'Ah. Now that I understand.' They leave the lobby behind by entering a wide, brightly lit hallway. 'You're in luck then. You see Eiffel, I've got a whole cupboard of board games I like to bust out for game night. They're better with more people, but I'm sure we can find something to occupy our time.'

'That sounds... great?'

'Better than great. Or there's always Netflix— Oh!' Kepler backtracks to the vending machine they just passed. He swipes his employee card and selects 2 chocolate bars. 'I'm about to blow your mind.'

After several consecutive vhrrs and clunks, Kepler bends down and pulls the bars out of the retrieval slot. He tosses one to Eiffel. 

'Dig in!'

Eiffel tears the wrapping and takes a tentative bite. Then crams an entire half of the bar into his mouth. He tries to say 'Oh my god this is so good.' with a full mouth while throwing his head back in bliss. It comes out as an intelligible mumble, but the sentiment is clear. 

'Way better than space food, huh?' Kepler unwraps his bar and takes a smaller bite.

' _So_ much better. I think I could cry. Am I crying? This is incredible.'

Kepler isn't able to confirm whether or not Eiffel is in fact crying because all the lights in the hallway suddenly go out. Total darkness lasts about three seconds before the ceiling flicker back on again.

'Minkowski and the others are in the maintenance room. Let's hurry up and get our things before we have to use our flashlights.' 

The lights go out two more times by the time they reach the locker rooms. They quickly grab their keys, wallets, and phones under dim orange emergency lights. Eiffel throws his items to the bottom of his pockets and picks his toolbox back up. The hard drives rattle against each other inside. They finish just as the lights go out for good. Clicking on his flashlight, Kepler leads the way out of the building.

Kepler's bright blue Mercedes is still sitting pretty in its designated parking spot in the garage when they get there. The giant concrete space echoes with the sound of their footsteps. The melodic beep of the electronic lock briefly joins in with its echoing sound waves. 

As they approach the car, Kepler offers to store the toolbox in the trunk. Eiffel insists on keeping it with him. He plops it between his feet in the passenger seat and Kepler drives off after flicking on the headlights and blasting the heater. 

The Goddard Futuristics Apartments are a just a quick drive away down the highway. They arrive before the car even has a decent chance at heating up. Kepler parks in his reserved spot and they enter a bustling lobby, which was typical no matter the time of day or year. Even though every Goddard-Sponsored astronaut was offered a room here to alleviate the stress of paying for a house you'd be away from for months or years at a time, astronauts weren't the only residents living here. Hundreds of regular employees ranging from engineers to welders and technicians could apply for housing. 

Those who know of Kepler and recognise him by appearance veer out of his path as he heads for the elevators. Others step out of his way on pure primal instinct. 

Kepler thumbs the button for the top floor in the elevator and crosses his arms. Beside him, Eiffel clutches his tool box and keeps his eyes downcast. With each stop the elevator empties a little bit more, and then they're alone. 

'I can take the couch.' Kepler offers. 

'What? Why? You should sleep in your own bed.'

'Not like I've spent many nights in it, myself.' Kepler idly scrapes at the dried blood stuck between his fingers. 'Job always had me on the move. And by the time I got upgraded to this room, I was in space more often than not.'

'I see.'

'It's a King Size. Air foam mattress. Best sleep you'll ever get.'

'Well if you insist,' Eiffel concedes just as the elevator glides to a stop. Kepler slides his employee card in the reader, and the doors open to Kepler's penthouse suite. The motion activated lights flicker on in stages. 

White marble floors, pure white walls, and stainless steel appliances reflect the light and the sight is nearly blinding. Kepler walks forward and steps out of his shoes. Eiffel sets down the tool box and does the same. The apartment is silent, pristine, and cold. 

Kepler extends his right arm to the wide open space and addresses Eiffel. 

'"I am most fortunate thus accidentally to encounter you; you have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home."'

'Is that from something?'

'A Shakespearean Tragedy. Very old stuff. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll order us some food.' Kepler drifts to the kitchen and turns on the faucet. 'In the meantime, the shower is yours and I can lend you some clothes. Though, my pants might be a little too short for you. There's also a library, an entertainment area with a state of the art sound system, and a room with just a pool table. Oh, and there's a jacuzzi on the balcony if you're interested. It's my personal favorite part of the suite. Do you have any preferences for food?'

'Uh... no. I'll let you pick.'

'Oh, the choices. I hope you don't have any allergies.' The icy water runs red with blood and soap. 'But if you do, I have Benadryl and I'm CPR trained. So don't you worry about a thing.'

Eiffel nods distractedly and Kepler lets him go explore the apartment in peace. He dries his hands with a disposable paper towel and goes into his bedroom to prepare some clothes for Eiffel. He settles on his old Utah University hoodie, a plain black t-shirt, his most comfortable (yet fashionable) sweatpants, and standard black socks. He debates on whether or not to add underwear to the pile and ultimately decides that good people deserve to put on a fresh pair of underwear after showering. Especially at the end of a long journey. He picks one he'd never worn before and shoves it between the shirt and pants and drops the whole pile off in the bathroom with a fresh towel. 

Once Eiffel is in the shower, Kepler heads back to the kitchen and hops onto a bar stool nearest to the power outlet. He shoves a lightning cable into his phone and powers it on. A single notification for emails, business and spam, pops up on the lock screen. No texts or calls. The usual. He swipes the notification away and opens the internet app.

After much debate, Kepler chooses pizza. Because it was practically scientifically impossible for anyone to hate pizza. He orders a classic pepperoni and a fun hawaiian pizza for himself and sets the table while he waits. 

Eiffel finishes showering and shuffles into the dining room while Kepler tears open a package of napkins. The sight gives him pause. A very significant pause. Eiffel tugs at the sleeves of Kepler's hoodie. 

'You. You look—good—comfortable. Are you comfortable?'

'Mhm. Thank you.'

'Good. Yeah. No problem. Why don't you take a seat? Dinner should be here any minute.'

Kepler escapes to find his wallet and the doorbell rings shortly after. He presses his card against the elevator reader and pays the delivery woman with an outrageous tip. 

Eiffel looks sorely out of place waiting politely at the head of Kepler's sparkling modern dining room table when he gets back. The greasy pizza boxes do their part to improve the atmosphere with some color, but Kepler takes it one step further and plays the radio through overhead speakers on a low volume. In minutes, the table becomes an apocalyptic wasteland of cardboard, grease spots, used napkins and pizza crusts. Eiffel leans back with a groan, looking a minute away from voluntarily entering a food coma. 

'You're spoiling me with good food, Kepler.'

'So you noticed.'

Eiffel gives a low whine in response and slumps further in his chair. Kepler passes a napkin over his mouth and excuses himself to clear the table and put away leftovers. Eiffel stumbles to the living room couch and sprawls out on his back as if trying to fuse himself into the cushions. Kepler keeps walking and takes his turn in the shower, which may or may not have ended up taking longer than usual. Afterwards he feels cleaner and calmer than he has in a long time. 

When he exits the bathroom he spots Eiffel through the floor length windows sitting with his feet in the hot tub. Kepler slides the door open and leans on the frame. 

'You know, I've got spare trunks if you want to take a dip.' 

Eiffel looks at him over his shoulder. The blue-green glow of the tub lights his chin and hair. The gray fabric of the hoodie is blue in the darkness. The rest of him is a shadow. 

'Really?' 

'Why not? It's not a bad night for a hot tub session.'

Eiffel doesn't protest. He changes in the bathroom while Kepler trades his bath towel for some swim trunks of his own. He detours in the kitchen to grab two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of whiskey. Four steps from the fridge he stops and remembers. The whiskey gets exchanged for two cans of orange soda. He opens the balcony door with his elbow and steps out. 

Already seated comfortably in the tub, Eiffel accepts his soda can with curiosity. Kepler crouches by the hot tub's control panel and turns on the jets. He then carefully chooses a spot 90 degrees from Eiffel's location and lowers himself into the hot bubbling water. He sinks all the way to his chest and leans his neck back against the rim. He exhales. 

'Sure is a pretty night for stargazing.' Kepler says. He hears the hiss and pop of Eiffel opening his soda can, followed by an audible slurp. 

'It's kind of underwhelming. In comparison to what's really up there.' 

'I won't argue with that, Eiffel. But it's still a nice comfort.'

'Mmm.' 

Eiffel sinks deeper into the tub and mimics Kepler's position. One of his legs meets Kepler's under the water. Kepler doesn't move. Neither does Eiffel. 

Another slurp. 

Kepler reaches over his head to grab his soda. Hiss. Pop. Slurp.

'Do you have any kids?' Eiffel asks suddenly, and Kepler actually chokes. As soon as he stops coughing and laughing at the same time he shakes his head and sits up straighter. Clears his throat.

'No. Uh, nope. No kids. Why do you ask?'

'I've been thinking about my daughter. Or, trying to. I can't remember her.' He says. Kepler watches the ghostly light ripple across his skin. 'I want to see her but... is that even a good idea? I mean, what kind of dad doesn't remember his own kid? Wouldn't that be bad for her to experience? Is it better for her to... think I'm dead? But I still want to meet her. Not right away, but...'

Eiffel trails off. Kepler doesn't know the right words to say, so he takes a shot in the dark.

'I've met her. Anne.'

'What? When?'

Eiffel pivots his head to stare at him and Kepler has to look away. 

'As soon as you agreed to participate in the Hephaestus Mission.' Kepler picks at the label of his soda. 'Cutter assigned her to me. Had me sit down with her and her mother to explain the Goddard Checks she'd be receiving in the future, thanks to your “voluntary” participation. I was also supposed to use Anne as... an incentive for you to cooperate if the situation ever warranted it.'

'You would've threatened her safety to get me to do something I didn't want to do?'

'I tried it, once. I was handcuffed at the time, you see. And there are few things I hate more than being handcuffed. So I needed you to get physically close enough for me to grab you, and turn the tides. I threatened to hurt Anne. You punched me. I got out of the cuffs.'

Eiffel says nothing. Kepler tries to smooth out the corner of the sticker he'd managed to peel. It curls back in on itself.

'I don't know... if I wouldn't have gone through with hurting her if the situation called for it. I would have tried everything else before getting to that point, but...' The aluminum can is still cold between his warm palms, wet with condensation. 'But yes, I would've used her to blackmail you.'

Kepler expects anger. Resentment. Even cold disappointment or frustration, but instead all he gets is Eiffel's careful unwavering gaze.

'Your reason for being at Wolf 359 was different than Cutter's.' He says. It isn't a question. 

'Maybe.'

'You gave everything you had to see it through.'

'I did.'

'Kepler, I know you said you want to leave it all in the past. And I told you that was okay with me. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about all sorts of things. There's no use dwelling on the empty parts of my mind so I work with what I have. I've been thinking about how you and Lovelace have the exact memories of your... previous selves. And how that allows you to believe you are the same exact person. Kepler, our pasts shape who we are. Our actions, our memories, and the things we learn from them, are the things that make us... us. Without all that, we're nothing.'

'You're not nothing, Eiffel.'

'I sure feel like nothing. But that's not my point. My point is, our pasts aren't insignificant. There are some things we should carry with us. Even if it hurts.'

'Is that why you kept your communication logs? Does it hurt you to listen to them?' 

'Yes.'

'And that pain helps you?'

'It's not the pain that helps, it's... it's the sense of self that comes with them. Even if I feel entirely disconnected from the Eiffel in those recordings, it's still me. And the lessons I learn from listening to those recordings, the differences I find between him and me, those are the things that make me who _I_ am right at this moment. But I can only ever find these things by looking back.' 

'So you want me to look back into my past, Eiffel? To find what exactly?'

'I want to know the real reason you were at Wolf 359.'

'You really think it holds any value at this moment?'

'It does to me. And to you, too. If it didn't, you wouldn't care about keeping it a secret. Even now.'

'I could lie to you—'

'But you won't.'

Kepler narrows his eyes. 

'You said it yourself; It's over. You have no reason to lie now. The man who just entrusted Cutter's top secret archives to his so-called enemies has no reason to lie. That's why you don't want to say anything. Because saying nothing is easier than saying the truth.'

Kepler rubs his forehead and sighs. He puts his head back and blinks at the stars. Unfocused. He closes his eyes. 

'I've never... said it. Out loud or otherwise. Didn't even voice it in my own head for the past few years. I was afraid. Afraid that Cutter would find out and stop me. And I couldn't afford to let that happen. Once I knew about his plan, I couldn't let him go through with it. Staked my whole life on it. Even now that Cutter's dead, I have a hard time believing it. I didn't think I would survive long enough to see it.' Kepler opens his eyes. Breathes in the chlorine scent of the hot tub and reminds himself that he is here, on Earth. 'Let's just say I was never on Cutter's side. Not for a single moment. Let's just leave it at that.'

'But why haven't you told the others? Why let them go on thinking you're—'

'Eiffel. Please.'

The tub whirls on and Eiffel doesn't press any further, though the air is heavy with his desire for it. 

Kepler breathes and refuses to see any more of his past. Not tonight. Not with the smell of blood still fresh in his mind. Not with his ghosts still circling close enough to do real harm. Not with Eiffel's leg still pressed against his under the water. 

Eiffel tips his head back. Finishes his soda. Spreads his arms out to either side on the rim and watches the bubbles churning in the center of the tub.

'What is she like? Anne?' He asks quietly.

'I think you ought to find that out for yourself.' 

Eiffel huffs. And cracks a tiny smile. 

‘You’re kind of awful, you know that, Kepler?’

‘Better than anyone else.’

-

The next day brings gentle blue skies with a hint of pink over the horizon. Sunrise is still a few minutes away but Kepler stands at the window with a coffee mug in one hand and his phone in the other. He browses both the national and local news sites and when nothing comes up about Goddard, he checks the weather. After finishing his coffee he begins the task of somewhat literally pulling a groggy and disoriented Eiffel out of bed. He throws him in the Mercedes and drives down to the nearest diner. 

A waiter named Dennis seats them in a retro style booth and Kepler orders the daily special. And another cup of coffee. 

'I'll have what he's having.' Says Eiffel without a glance at the menu. His voice is still gruff with sleep and his eyelids struggle to stay open. The waiter swipes up the menus and smiles sweetly at Kepler before zipping away, apron strings bobbing with each step. The rest of the diner is decently packed for a weekday. It always was, with how close it was to HQ. Goddard's cafeteria provided healthy nutritional meal options at any time of the day but sometimes all you really needed was a sopping burger served with stained silverware in a dimly lit red and white 80s themed joint, complete with a bar and working jukebox with classics from the previous century. 

'So how'd you sleep?'

'I don't think I've ever slept so good.' Eiffel answers with a yawn. 'In fact I don't know if I'm still asleep on the Urania and this is all a dream. It wouldn't surprise me if that was the case.'

Kepler chuckles. 'That so? What can I do to prove it's real?'

Eiffel props his chin on a palm and taps fingers against his cheek. 'Tell me a story? Something I wouldn't be able to make up.'

'What do you want to hear?'

'How did you and Jacobi meet?'

'We met at a— a bar. I bought him a drink and gave him my business card. By that point he'd already been selected to work at Goddard. But it's always easier to make people think they're applying by choice.'

'How did you get hired?'

'I applied. Next question.'

'What are your hobbies?'

'Reading, hunting, fishing, and anthropology.' 

'Do you have any family?'

'None that I've stayed in contact with.'

'What are you going to do from now on?'

'There's no shortage of work for undercover intelligence agents. Every millionaire in the world has a target on their back and people willing to pay people like me to dig up their secrets. I'll probably go back to it eventually. Living as someone I'm not is what I do best.' 

'Why are you so nice to me?'

'I like you.'

'You—'

'Next question?' 

'Uh—'

'Two breakfast sandwiches with a side of chips for you gentlemen.' Dennis plops two steaming plates of golden paninis oozing cheese and yellow egg yolks onto the chipped red table. A side of dill pickles is the only color variation in the ensemble. Dennis pours their coffee and sets the pot down on the table. 'Can I get you anything else?'

Eiffel shakes his head. 'Nothing for me, thank you.' 

'Actually, could we get two chocolate shakes please?' Kepler asks.

'Would you like whip cream on those?'

'Oh I would love that. Eiffel?'

'Um, sure?'

Dennis bounces on his heels. 'Coming right up.'

A slow smile spreads over Kepler's face when Dennis leaves. He buries it with food, but it doesn't quite go away. Warmth settles in his stomach. Across the table Eiffel digs into his breakfast. Egg yolk drips from between his fingers with each bite. Morning light blurs through the dirty window and lights his dark skin and eyelashes. Nothing about Eiffel is soft. But all his edges seem a little less abrasive in the warm glow. Kepler himself feels a little less empty and a little more warm. No less dangerous or criminal, but just an inch more human. He wants to wrap a fist around the feeling and never let go, but fears his touch would scatter it, ruin it, or crush it. So he lets it curl in his hollow chest uncaged. 

He takes the last bite of his panini and refills his coffee cup. 

'How are you feeling today, Eiffel?'

'I'm okay. Have you heard anything from the others?'

'No. If you want to talk to them, you should have access to the Goddard email portal. It's an automated system.'

'I'll try that.'

Their chocolate shakes come in tall glasses with neat swirls of whipped cream threatening to topple out of gravity's constraints if not consumed soon. Dennis drops them off with the check and zips on to the next table. Kepler twists the paper wrapper off his red and white bendy straw and plunges it into the sweet treat. 

'Do you want to go buy some clothes after this? I don't have many pants that will fit you. Neither will Jacobi.' 

Eiffel looks at him from under brows drawn together. He plays with the straw in his hands. Kepler pushes his un-gelled hair out of his face and shrugs a shoulder. 'I'll pay.'

'I'm not sure how I feel about you paying for everything. The food is one thing, but—'

'Think of it as Goddard's money. My position gave me big and pretty paychecks but not a lot of time or reason to spend them. I want to help you get back on your own two feet.'

'Why? Why do all of this?'

'Because I like you, Eiffel. And you're the one who wanted us to stay in touch, remember? You put this,' He vaguely gestures to himself, 'upon yourself.'

Eiffel takes a long sip of his chocolate shake and says nothing. A corner of his lips curls up around his straw. Kepler stirs his shake. Little goosebumps emerge across his arms and back. Sunlight tilts as morning creeps along into noon. 

\- 

After a long trip to the mall, Eiffel manages to get in contact with Lovelace. She picks him up from the Goddard Apartments Complex around 5 PM. Kepler takes the chance to go grocery shopping for some real food. The foyer of his apartment is a minefield of shopping bags when he gets back. He maneuvers around them to the kitchen and gets to work on dinner. 

He washes his hands and slaps a slab of raw beef onto a cutting board, pulls out his sharpest knife, and gets to work. Steel claps against wood with each cut. Stringy fat gets peeled away while a deep pan on the stove heats up. 

Thud thud thud. Red meat on brown wood and cold gray steel. Pull slide push.

After the meat comes green onions, bell peppers, lemons, and garlic. He pulls out a fresh knife. 

Thud. A bullet to the brain. Little green and white ringlets and chunky red pepper slivers. The beef sizzles in the pan. The respiratory system comes back first, then the nervous system. All the while excruciating pain. 

Kepler stirs the bits of meat until they brown. Then he adds the pepper strips and splashes more olive oil into the pan. An alien species without form or appearance or concept of death. Painful, forced, revival. Perfect results. 

Sizzle. Hiss. Pop. 

Kepler pulls out another knife from the drawer, the other utensils rattle together when drawer slams closed. He lays the knife face down on his open palm. Not the mechanical one, but the one still made of skin, blood, meat, and bone. Somewhere under there his pulse jumps and picks up speed.

Thud thud thud.

A life without death. A story without an end. A universe infinitely expanding. Just a collection of atoms existing in the place of something dead. 

Thud thud.

Steel into meat. Flesh parts in half with a sting. He holds his open palm over the kitchen sink and counts the seconds it takes for the bleeding to stop, and doesn't blink a single time as the red line fades back into smooth unwounded skin.

Air exits his lungs. He washes his hands carefully, washes the blood from the sink, and dries off with a towel. He feels no pain. There is no wound. No mark or evidence of remaining humanity. 

He takes out another knife.

Thud.

Steel against wood. Bright orange carrots fall apart into thick circles. 

He fills a pot with water for the rice and doesn't stop moving until dinner is finished. Then he does all the dishes. Takes a utilitarian shower. Tidies up the entire apartment, though there isn't a whole lot to be done. He scrubs imaginary dirt and blood from every spotless surface. He shoots Eiffel a simple text to ask about his dinner plans. He pushes his limits on the treadmill while a movie plays in the background.

He plays the part of being a human. 

Dinner sits untouched on the stovetop when he comes back into the kitchen to grab his keycard, wallet, phone, and car keys. With a hoodie and a beach towel under one arm, Kepler rides the elevator down to the ground flood. He politely smiles at passing strangers all the way to his car. He climbs in and turns on the engine, flicks on the headlights, and floors it. He doesn't stop until he's reached the middle of fucking nowhere, miles and miles from any other soul. 

Thud. The door slams shut and the force of it rocks the entire car. Kepler walks 20 paces into the darkness, short grass shifting under his footsteps. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howls. He spreads the beach towel on the smoothest patch of dirt he sees and lays down on it with knees bent and arms pillowed under his head. 

A trillion stars greet him. Kepler empties his lungs as an offering to the night. His brain forces him to take another breath so Kepler empties his mind next, until nothing but this very moment exists. Just him on the enormous Earth and the even bigger universe above. 

He lays there for a long time. Trailing constellations with wide open eyes, while recounting his travels to some of those distant, yet reachable, stars. He lets his mind wander until the Leo constellation digs its claws into his thoughts and clings to his retinas. Wolf 359, located in Leo's southern region, is too faint to be visible from here. Yet it burns in the back of his mind and the heat of it races through his blood.

A faint vibration in his hoodie's pocket pierces his brain fog and diverts his attention. It takes two tries to fit his hand into the pocket and pull his phone out. Kepler squints at the too-bright screen hanging above his face. A call from Eiffel vibrates incessantly in his metal palm. He feels it all the way in his teeth. 

Picking up the call, he crams the phone against his ear and rubs at his eyes. 

'Hello.' He manages to say.

'Kepler?'

'I'm here.'

'Hey. Sorry, I just saw your text and thought it'd be easier if I called. What're you up to?'

'Stargazing. But it's probably about time I head home.'

'Home? Where are you?'

'Out. In the middle of a field. Not sure exactly where. '

'How long have you been out there?'

'Dunno. Have you eaten?'

'Yeah, Isabel made pasta.'

'Mmm.' Kepler shuffles to sit up and rubs at his stiff neck. 'Are you spending the night there?' 

The line is quiet for a minute. 'If it's not too much trouble, could I stay with you?'

'Say no more, I'm on my way.'

'Are you sure?'

'Are _you_ sure?'

'Yeah. Isabel isn't too thrilled about it, but it's my decision. I don't think you're as bad as they say you are. Though I totally understand where they're coming from. If you'd just tell them...'

'Eiffel. Text me her address and I'll be there soon, alright?'

'Yeah. Got it.'

Kepler ends the call and gets to his feet. He shakes out the blanket and throws it in the backseat of his car. He gets the address after a few minutes of blasting the heater and takes off. Half an hour later Eiffel falls into the passenger seat and looks a minute away from falling asleep. He fixes sleepy eyes on Kepler and grins. 

'What?' Kepler asks, while pulling out of the driveway.

'Nothing.'

'Did you have something to drink?'

'Nothing alcoholic.'

'Interesting. What's got you so giggly?'

'Nothing.'

'Your smile is so big I can see your teeth.'

'Keep your eyes on the road then.'

'Whatever you say.'

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Eiffel slump in his seat and squirm until he's comfortable. Kepler lowers the heat a few degrees. 

The next few miles are quiet. Kepler is sure Eiffel is asleep but when he turns to check on him at a traffic light, he meets half-open eyes illuminated by the red light. This time no words are exchanged. Eiffel merely blinks at him and Kepler watches, and waits. Until the light reflecting off Eiffel's skin turns green and Kepler faces the road again. 

Only when they pull into the apartments does Eiffel fall asleep, and Kepler has to shake him awake. Once inside Kepler puts dinner in the fridge for tomorrow while Eiffel gets ready for bed. They say goodnight and Kepler goes to spread his blankets out on the couch. He turns his head away from the window and the stars and plunges headfirst into a dreamless sleep. 

-

In a way it's fitting for Eiffel to be the one to make first contact. 

It happens outside an ice cream shop of all places. They stand in the shade of a too-crowded shop while the sun bakes everything and everyone around them. Occasionally a blast of AC will hit them when someone opens the shop door with a merry jingle. Besides that, it's comfortable. The ice cream is cold on their tongues and the metal railing supporting their backs hasn't had time to heat up into a hot iron bar of death. Yet. 

Kepler studiously works at his coffee ice cream cone before it can drip to his fingers and watches locals and tourists alike pour in and out of the shop in various stages of heat stroke and annoyance at the sun. Eiffel faces the other way with his elbows on the rail and stabs his little spoon into a cup of cookies and cream. A bright red trucker hat hides the top half of his face from view. Kepler pushes blue tinted sunglasses back up his nose bridge and licks the rim of his cone. A woman and three children parade out of the shop, each holding a cone with bright blue and pink cavity swirls with sprinkles and gummy worms sticking out here and there. They climb into a gray SUV and, as fate would have it, the youngest of the kids drops her cone. Tears and hysteria ensue. Her father begrudgingly gets out of the driver's seat and marches back into the shop. 

'How's your ice cream?' Kepler asks.

'Good, yours?'

'Just fine. You wanna taste?'

Eiffel eyes his cone. Kepler tilts it in offering. Eiffel detaches from the rail and dips down to swipe his tongue across the ice cream. He straightens out and Kepler watches his jaw work. 

'Bitter, huh?'

Kepler feels his mouth twitch. 'Just how I like it.'

Eiffel scrapes a spoonful of his cookies and cream and holds it out to Kepler. 'Want some?'

Kepler ignores the noise in his head and locks eyes with Eiffel. In the distance, the child in the SUV is still screaming. Kepler parts his lips and accepts the offering. Milky and crumbly sweet nonsense melts across his tongue. He swallows. 

'Tastes like pure sugar.'

Eiffel flashes his teeth and pulls down the rim of his hat. 'And that's just how I like it.' 

Cold wetness running down Kepler's hand demands his reluctant attention. He slurps up his dripping cone and fingers. Eiffel puts his back to the railing and mimics Kepler's pose. The shop door jingles as two elderly ladies exit with small vanilla cones. Kepler finally manages to flatten the top of his now nearly-liquid treat. A goth teen and his jock friend tear out of a junky pickup truck and tumble into the shop, laughing at the tail end of some inside joke.

A tentative touch on Kepler's bare arm nearly startles him out of his skin. He can't avoid the shudder that follows or the goosebumps that shoot waves of molten ice in an outward spiral from the point of contact. Eiffel's fingers spread out, inch up his shoulder, crawl up toward his sweaty neck as if searching for a door in a pitch black room full of writhing vipers. Kepler waits, eyes forward and stock still, as if he is the prey. 

Eiffel's hand drops- while Kepler holds his breath- and lands on his lower back. Kepler's stomach follows the motion. He first remembers how to swallow. Then how to blink. Then exhale. His mouth twitches in a smile, unsure for the first time in his life about what to say, in a situation such as this. 

With a sweaty hand he flicks up Eiffel's hat. 'And just what are you playing at?'

'I'm not playing.' Eiffel says with a goofy boyish grin. 

'You're cute.' Kepler drawls, leaning a little into Eiffel's space. Eiffel ducks his head and Kepler sees his eyes crinkle before they disappear out of view beneath the hat. Kepler swipes it off entirely and puts it on his own head. 'Don't hide from me now, Eiffel.'

Setting down his empty ice cream cup, Eiffel uses his free hand to wrestle the sunglasses from Kepler's face. He crams them on and throws his head back.

'Now we're even.' 

'Oh no, you don't know what you've started.' Kepler hooks a finger through Eiffel's belt loop and gives it a tiny tug. Eiffel's mouth falls open and Kepler escapes his hands, pushing away from the railing and walking into the sunlight. He shoots a look over his shoulder and digs out his car keys. 'Well? Are you coming?'

'I'm right behind you.'

-

Kepler receives a call from Minkowski on a tuesday morning while his breakfast sizzles away on a skillet. She tells him that Eiffel's official release paperwork is being processed, and in order to avoid reporters and news outlets she recommends helping him stay low for a while. 

'Can you, I dunno, take him out of the state for a while?'

'No need. There's enough wide open emptiness right here in Kansas that he'd probably be safer here. I'll take him somewhere nice and remote.'

'I don't like it when you say those words.' 

'Please Renée, what reason would I have for killing Eiffel in some undisclosed location? What motive?'

'You don't have one.' She admits. 'Probably. Just stay safe and keep me updated, Kepler.'

'Roger that.'

His phone clatters against the countertop when he hangs up. After breakfast he leaves Eiffel alone in his apartment while he runs down to the nearest department store. The entire backseat of Kepler's Mercedes gets crammed with a week's worth of camping supplies; Mostly consisting of non-perishable food, sleeping bags, a tent, and some fishing equipment. Firewood and fresh produce would be bought at a later pitstop. 

Back at the apartment they cram clothes and toiletries into duffel bags and hit the road before noon. For the first two hours of the ride, Eiffel goes through Kepler's collection of unlabelled burned CDs hiding in the glove department. 

'Are all these songs pirated?' 

'Eiffel, there is no such thing as a man totally free from unlawful corruption.' 

'So that's a 'Yes'. Gotcha.' 

After nearly 2 hours traveling in a straight line east on highway 400, they roll into their destination. Cross Timbers State Park in Toronto, Kansas. 

Kepler locks the Mercedes, shoves the keys into his duffel bag and starts lugging supplies down to the lakeside. Once camp is set up, he starts a fire to cook dinner over. Eiffel plops into the other chair with a dirty hunk of metal and wires in his hands. 

'Yeesh. What is that?'

'A busted radio. Found it in the bushes over there. I wanna see if I can fix it.'

'You can do that?'

'I know how this works.' He says, with hands hovering over the muddy chips and wires. 'I don't know how I know, but I do.' He shakes his head. 'I can't ignore that. I don't remember ever fixing something like this before but I just _know_ what to do. Or, at least I think I do. Only one way to find out.'

'Huh. Well it sure would be nice to have some music out here. Nothing like sitting on a dock with a book in one hand, a drink in the other, and some nice grainy country to tap your foot to.' He swats at a bug on his leg and pulls his sock up over the vacated spot. Eiffel rattles the radio and picks out a trapped pebble. 'But don't stress if it doesn't work out, I'm sure we can find something else to entertain ourselves with. You know I used to be in a funk band?' Kepler asks, but Eiffel is already too lost in his work to hear. 

He flips the hot dogs. Juice drips from them and hits the fire with loud pops and hisses. Squinting over the lake, Kepler tries to judge if it'd be a nice swimming spot later. Meanwhile the sun continues its steady droop toward the horizon. 

Over dinner Eiffel distractedly eyes the radio while Kepler recounts tales of his musical days as a young adult. 'You wouldn't think the flute would be a good fit for punk rock, but that's only because you've never heard me rip at one of those bad boys. Punk is all about rebellion and fighting the norm, so what good is it to only stick to grunge and grime? You'd never expect to hear a flute solo in the middle of a song about rage and anarchy, and that's precisely what makes it the perfect fit for punk.'

'Uh huh.'

'You'd have to hear it to believe it, I suppose.'

Later, Kepler brings a bug lantern to the dock and sprawls out right on top of the wood. Gentle breezes sway the dock as the sun sets and all the frogs come out to scream. Eiffel remains at the campfire, picking away at his rusted contraption. Kepler almost doesn't hear it over the crickets and toads and mosquitos, when a dim static joins the cacophony. 

Standing up, he makes his way back to the fire. An upbeat synthpop song crackles and fights it way into focus. Vocals warble out of warped speakers as Kepler approaches closer to confirm the radio is in fact functioning. Albeit weakly. 

Eiffel sits with his head back in the folding chair with the radio cradled to his chest. The last minute of Space Age Love Song thrums softly through the player's torn speakers, crackling and fuzzy but stubbornly holding onto the signal and playing whatever sound waves miraculously come through. The song tapers out and then the first three seconds of Dancing Queen kick up. Kepler acts before he thinks, bouncing forward and squeezing Eiffel's shoulder. 

'C'mere.' He beckons, 'Come on, come dance with me, Eiffel!'

'I don't know how—'

'That's alright, neither do I!' 

Eiffel lets Kepler take the radio and set it down carefully on the other chair. He cranks up the volume just as the vocals kick in, and takes Eiffel's hands into his own. Widely swinging them to the beat, he moves backward toward the clearing by the shore. With knees kicking and shoulders swaying he coaxes Eiffel's gangly limbs into some semblance of interpretive dance. It's too much energetic swaying and breathless nervous giggles to resemble anything cohesive but Eiffel's smile shines from ear to ear and a ruddy flush blooms across his face and neck. His hands sweat, or maybe that's Kepler's fault. Their palms are slippery and hot, and the damp twigs underfoot snap under their shuffling feet. The lyrics instinctively bubble out of Kepler's mouth; It doesn't sound good, he was always better at instruments than singing. But that doesn't matter because it gets a laugh out of Eiffel. The moon highlights their movements and shadows swallow their shyness. Eiffel slips his hands out of Kepler's and lifts them high above his head, elbows flying. Kepler spins and takes a chance at resting his fingers on Eiffel's twisting hips. Eiffel's hands drift to Kepler's shoulders and he pulls him closer. Kepler's voice fades to a murmur as their foreheads meet and roll against each other. His eyes flutter shut and his hands slide higher along Eiffel's sides. They find his back and clutch the warm fabric there. Rough hands on Kepler's neck travel to his jaw and tilt it higher, and navigate him with firm sureness to collide with Eiffel's soft lips. 

Kepler utterly melts. The song swells, nearing its end, while blood rushes in his ears, and their arms tangle in their unfamiliar effort to pull the other as close as possible.

Faintly, Kepler is aware when the song ends and Sweet Love by Anita Baker kicks up next, with its slow tempo and honeyed vocals. What he isn't sure of is where exactly he ends and Eiffel begins. The kisses are slow, lingering, molten. Eiffel's teeth are on his bottom lip, nipping and pulling and Kepler's hands are in Eiffel's jeans and his face is hot, his breath is hot, the thumb thrumming to the pulse in his neck is hot. 

The deep voice of the radio host startles them out of the haze. 

_'You asked for more so here they are, nonstop classics and greatest hits from the 80s. Up next—'_

Eiffel fumbles to switch off the radio. When he turns back around, backlit by the campfire, his face is a shadow. Kepler's chest continues to rapidly expand and fall. The shadow shifts. Moves closer. A hand curls under his chin and tilts his face in the light, this way and that. 

Kepler fumbles for the hem of Eiffel's shirt and buries his fingers there. 

'Eiffel—'

Dipping down, he catches Kepler's lips again. 

In the lake, the frogs continue their moonlight serenades. This kiss is heated, but Kepler pulls away. He cups the sides of Eiffel's head and rises onto his toes to murmur into his ear. Eiffel's hair sticks to his lips. 

'Hey there,' He purrs. Eiffel's hands dig into Kepler's waist. 

'Hi.' Eiffel rasps. 

'You are one suave fellow, Eiffel. All I wanted to do was dance.'

Eiffel plants a sloppy kiss against Kepler's neck. 'I can't help it.' 

Kepler crushes him closer. 'Do you— want to take this further?'

Hot breath fans against his neck. Eiffel buries his face there and after giving it some thought, nods his head. 

'I do.'

'Then why don't you wait in the tent? I'll be there in a sec.'

Eiffel detaches himself and crawls into the tent with a sly grin aimed over his shoulder. A lamp flicks on from inside. Kepler adjusts the front of his jeans. 

Then he fills a bucket with water from the lake and douses the fire. He watches the steam plume and takes a minute to breathe. Turning on his heel, he snags a bottle of drinking water, twists the cap off, and takes a few big gulps. He takes an extra second to fix his hair before he unzips the tent flap and moves inside. 

Eiffel, laying on his back with wrists crossed over his forehead, shifts into a half sitting position and regards Kepler. The lantern casts a yellow-orange glow on his skin, and stretches hard shadows against the canvas walls of the tent. 

Kepler crouches beside Eiffel, tilts his head, and smiles. 

'Hello there, handsome.'

Eiffel swallows. Licks his lips. Flashes a crooked grin. 

'Hi.' He says. 'You're not so bad yourself.'

Moving slowly, Kepler lays down beside him. Propped on his side and facing Eiffel, he reaches out and runs a hand along Eiffel's arm, feeling his hair and tendons and heat. 

Kepler sticks out his chin and slightly parts his smiling lips in offering. 

Eiffel takes it. He pushes Kepler's shoulder down, flat against the ground and raises a leg over Kepler's body. He climbs on top of Kepler and Kepler encourages it, grabbing handfuls of Eiffel and humming into his mouth. He pulls Eiffel down flush against him and this time it's Eiffel who groans low in his throat. 

Kepler snakes a hand between their bodies and grasps the waistband of Eiffel's jeans. Eiffel raises his hips and lets Kepler pop his jeans open. As soon as he wiggles them down past the curve of Eiffel's ass, he sits up and takes hold of Kepler's wrists. 

'Second thoughts?'

'No, just—' His chest heaves with each breath. He lets go of Kepler's wrists and tugs on Kepler's belt loops instead. Kepler puts his hands on Eiffel's thighs and keeps them still. 'I don't want to go all the way. But I do want—'

'To get each other off?'

'Yeah.' 

'Clothes on or off?'

'On. For now.' 

'You got it, baby.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, if you weren't gonna bring it up, I probably would have. You're cute, but I'm not the type to go all the way on the first night.'

'Oh. Well, okay, that's a huge relief,' He sighs through a smile and Kepler sees his entire body visibly relax. Kepler smiles back and gives his thighs a squeeze. 

Eiffel flops back down and resumes their makeout. He pushes fists through Kepler's hair and sucks up his breathy moans. Kepler has to turn his head away to breathe when Eiffel finally pries open his jeans and grants him sweet relief.

'For the record, I really didn't expect this.' Kepler admits. 

Humming against his neck, Eiffel gets even harder where he ruts against Kepler through their boxers. His skin is so hot down there, so desperate and needy. Eiffel's pulse jitters where his wrists press against the sides of Kepler's face and neck. Kepler takes one and presses it to his mouth. Eiffel's back curves and he bows upward with a gasp when he comes. It squirts onto Kepler's shirt in thick white ropes.

He continues to rut against Kepler as he rides out the waves and reattaches his lips to Kepler's with a single deep kiss that is infuriatingly arousing and oh so sexy that it sends Kepler's head spinning. He fumbles to shove a hand into his boxers to finish himself off, and delivers sweet airy sounds into Eiffel's mouth as he comes all over his belly. 

Eiffel slides off to one side and kicks off his jeans the rest of the way. Kepler idly runs his hands through Eiffel's curls as his heart rate returns to something more reasonable, and less likely to burst at the seams.

'Sorry about your shirt.' Says Eiffel. 

Kepler tugs it off and tosses it into a corner of the tent. 

'I'm not afraid of getting a little dirty.'

'I'll keep that in mind.' 

Still too sluggish to move, Kepler looks at their sleeping bags stacked next to each other a few feet away. He points to them with two fingers. 

'So, do you want to sleep separately? Or make a proper bed out of those and sleep together?'

Eiffel playfully snaps the waistband of Kepler's boxers against his side. He rolls up to plant a wet kiss on Kepler's shoulder. His eyes catch the light from the lantern and shimmer beautifully. 

'Together.'

-

Cold dew clings to his sandals when Kepler crawls out of the tent the following morning. Clear pale blue skies welcome him to a brand new day while a crisp coldness bites his nose. Birds trill in their search for breakfast and the ground steams in growing patches of sunlight. Flowering weeds and oak tree branches crumple underfoot as he walks into the woods to find a tree to relieve himself on.

Eiffel is just exiting the tent, hair mussed and clothes disheveled, when he comes back. 

'Sorry, did I wake you?'

'Yeah, but it's fine. I'd rather not sleep in. Gosh it's beautiful out.'

'I heard you mumbling in your sleep.' Kepler crouches to stack dry wood in the fire pit. He secures a cooking grate over the pit by shoving its legs into the dirt. 'Bad dream?'

'Dunno.' Eiffel scratches his fuzzy belly. 'Couldn't make sense of it. Just a bunch of weird disjointed scenes as far as I could tell.'

'Have you been getting a lot of those? Ever since...?'

'Kind of? I don’t- I forget them as soon as I wake up.’ 

Kepler shoves a lit match between the logs and coaxes a decent cooking fire into existence. He places a pot of water on the metal grill and kicks back to wait. Eiffel stares out across the lake and yawns. 

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'About what?'

'The incident. Your complete memory loss.'

'There isn't much to say.'

'No?'

Eiffel runs a hand up the back of his head and shakes it back and forth. 

'No. I mean, the best way I can put it is... It's like shuffling your hand through a pit of stones, I guess? Because you’re trying to find something that's supposed to be buried there. You don't know what that something is. But you do know you'll never find it, because it's not actually anywhere in the pit. You know this, but you have to keep looking. You know it's completely hopeless, but _what if_? What if it's in there after all, and you just haven't been searching hard enough? That possibility is always in the back of your mind. So you put your hands back in, and keep looking.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'That's...'

'Stupid. It's stupid. I shouldn't be trying so hard to look for something that just _isn't there_ anymore.'

'I was going to say that sounds awful.'

'Oh. Okay.'

'You don't deserve this.'

'Yeah, well, I don't even know if that's entirely accurate. Maybe I do deserve it.'

'You don’t.’

Eiffel shoots a look at him and rolls his eyes. He grumbles under his breath and picks off crumbly charred chunks from the burning logs with a long stick.

'Whether or not I deserve it won't change anything.'

'You're right, it won't. But maybe you'll stop blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault.'

Eiffel turns away. He stares over the lake and doesn’t look back. Soon, the pot of water begins to boil. Birdsong coaxes the sun higher into the air. And the world keeps spinning. 

-

It's 2 months later when all of Eiffel's documents finally get processed. Minkowski delivers them in a large yellow envelope in person. Kepler serves them tea in the dining room and disappears onto the balcony with a book in one hand, and coffee in the other, to allow them their privacy. 

He eases onto a reclining patio chair and gets through three entire chapters of the book before he realizes he hasn't retained anything he just read. Flipping back to the front, he attempts to restart. But only gets through the first few paragraphs before his mind starts to wander again. 

Setting the book aside, Kepler resolves to simply sit back and soak up the sun. Lifting his space-grade heat-retaining liquid canister to his lips, he finds himself all out of coffee. 

Puffy white clouds cast their enormous shadows over the vast empty fields of Kansas. A few miles to the northeast, the town of Wichita breaks up the otherwise monotonous flat scenery. Goddard HQ isn't visible from this side of the building, and for that Kepler is grateful. 

Eventually, Eiffel finds him there. He walks to the balcony railing and leans over the edge. His curls ruffle in the wind. 

'Thought you two would've had more to talk about.' Says Kepler.

'Renée has a lot going on right now. She stayed for as long as she could.'

'Ah. That's too bad.'

Eiffel doesn't immediately reply. He looks out over the skyline just as Kepler had been doing. His fingers tap against the railing. The clouds continue on their invisible paths.

And then, when Kepler leasts expects it, Eiffel says 'I'm going to see my family.'

Kepler fixes his eyes to the center of Eiffel's back. A white t-shirt with 3 thick blue stripes wraps snuggly around his body. 

'You decided to go through with it after all?'

'Yeah. Renée set me up with the plane tickets. I'm leaving on Thursday.'

'Oh. That's in 2 days.'

'If I don't do it soon, I might lose my courage.'

'Smart thinking.'

The stripes warp as Eiffel turns around. 

'You're okay with this?'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'Because I don't know when I'll be back. If ever. I don't know if I'll come back, Kepler.'

'That's alright.’ He says, and looks at the empty cup in his hand. ‘You need to do this. I get that. I wouldn't want to keep you from that. You need a proper home. And we both know this place can't ever be that.'

'No. It can't.' A cloud passes directly overhead and blocks the noontime sun. 'Thank you for letting me stay with you, by the way. It was nice. I had fun.'

'Me too,' Kepler says. And he smiles. 'Me too.'

-

580 feet above sea level, Kepler sits huddled in a tiny fishing boat in the center of Washington's Lake Crescent. With no other person visiting the lake at this time of year, his boat hardly sways in the still freezing water. So still, in fact, that the surrounding ring of the Olympic Mountains are caught in the reflection of the water's glassy surface to form deep-green copies, towering in reverse. The illusion is extremely convincing, until tiny ripples inevitably disturb the bright white clouds passing underneath him.

His ears sting in the cold. But the air here is cleaner than scientifically engineered oxygen filter devices could ever hope to be, despite being just as pure. It feels better here. Crisp and cool in his mouth. As if the inner lining of his lungs, and the very oxygen in his blood, are cleansed with each inhale and exhale. 

The only sounds to be heard are the occasional slap of waves against the side of the boat, the creak of his fishing pole when he manages to catch some small unsuspecting fish, the plop of it hitting the water upon being released back to the wild, his own breathing, and the soft strings of the acoustic guitar humming from the CD player perched next to him on the bench. 

Also, the clunk of glass against wood when he sets down his bottle of whiskey after taking a sip. A sound so familiar it barely registers. 

It helps to keep him warm, is what he tells himself. 

The tip of his fishing pole bobs down and he leans forward to grab hold of it. He doesn't meet much resistance, and quickly reels in a 6 inch trout. It smacks against his palm as Kepler unhooks it and lets it jump back to freedom.

Instead of recasting the bait, Kepler sets down the rod inside the boat. It was time to head back. Back to the cozy lodge room he rented for the week. It was getting colder, and he was hungry. 

But it was so peaceful here. Alone, drifting in the middle of a 12-mile long bottomless abyss. 

No, not an abyss. There was water here. There was water on Earth. Clean, drinkable, flowing water. Most of what made up Earth's surface, and his own body, was water. Not like anywhere else in the universe that had been so far explored. And perhaps, even beyond that. 

The abyss was up there, in the spaces between everything beautiful and chaotic. The abyss was also in his mind. Vast and empty and meaningless. 

Here there was water. And giant green mountains, named after the very home of the Greek Gods. And midnight-blue shadows cast by pillowy clouds and The Sun which gave life to it all. 

Here there is substance. There is life. There is peace. So he stays a minute longer, and suffers through the cold, to exist in the middle of it all. 

-

It's 2 years later and Kepler is at a gas station in Nowhere Arizona when he gets the text.

It buzzes in his back pocket as the door jingles and sets off a tone further in the back of the store. His bladder demands priority and he books it to the single-toilet bathroom without checking his phone or letting his eyes look too closely at anything. The water from the sink is warm but clear, and he dries his hands on his jeans as he exits. 

There's an ATM in the corner next to the bathroom. He makes a pitstop to pull out a few twenties. Fresh unmarred bills slide out of the machine and into his wallet. 

From the aisles he picks out three cans of black coffee, an assortment of chex mix bags, and a pack of green apple gum. 

The cashier finishes a paragraph in his book and places it face down before ringing him up. Kepler plucks his phone from his back pocket and unlocks it. He looks down at the big screen in his palm, at the crack on the bottom of the screen that spiderwebs upward and toward his thumb hovering over the words. He stares at the dirty uneven tiled floor under his dusty black shoes. He stares at the back of his eyelids and the images burned into them. 

Pocketing the phone, he replaces the weight in his hand with that of a wallet. He feels the weight of a gun while the liquor aisle laughs at his back. 

He pays the cashier with a smooth $20 and a toothy grin. 

Outside, the heat sticks to his skin and the inside of his lungs. He takes the pump out of his Mercedes and plucks the receipt from the machine, crumpling it reflexively. The car sways when he drops into it. His bag of goodies gets tossed onto the passenger seat across the center console and the car comes alive with a shudder. 

He jams his phone back into the phone holder on the dashboard, flicks to the GPS app, and downs the first can of coffee before pulling out of the gas station. 

20 miles later, he rolls to the side of the road, shuts off the car, and steps out. All around him the Arizona sand bakes in the smoldering light of the setting sun. Dust kicks up in the trail his footprints leave. The horizon rolls and wavers in the blistering heat. 

Crouching, he yanks off his sunglasses and leaves fists pressed against his temple. Sweat trickles onto his knuckles and down his back. It hurts to breathe. 

He yells, and there is no one around to hear it. The sun yells back. The sun is always yelling. Never with any words. Only sound. That's how most stars work, after all. 

Yet it's a different sun that burns a hole through his chest. He feels it tug insurmountably at his insides, jostling his bones, lapping up at his fingers and taunting him even in the shadows. 

For a single blinding moment he almost believes Wolf 359 is here, dripping down his exposed head, ready at last to claim him. But when he turns around there is no sun. Only a red glow sinking beyond the curve of the Earth. He stands there dumbly as the sky grows dark and heavy. His sweat cools, the stars come out, and still he hears the sun calling out to him by name. 

-

The building is excruciatingly familiar when he pulls up to it and hands his keys to the valet. Kepler had expected it to look different, or at least feel different. But everything down to the white tiles and plastic ferns in the lobby are exactly the same. 

The receptionist, however, is a fresh face, and this helps take some of the edge off. He checks in and receives a stapled packet of papers to review while he waits. He reads through it twice before he hears his name.

'Warren?' Says a young teen at the door with long blond curls and an intern name tag. Kepler stands up and follows him. 

‘My name’s Charlie. I’m just here to escort you down the hall. You're here for the interview, right? I mean, I know you are because that's the info pack they give to wannabe astronauts.' He waves a hand at the papers in Kepler's hand with barely a glance. 'I snuck a peek at it once and it's pretty basic stuff, huh? I thought it'd be cooler but I guess missions have to be kept top secret. Don't want anyone who's turned away to go selling our secrets out of spite.'

'No. You definitely wouldn't want that.'

'Not that I think you would do that or anything, I'm just saying there are probably people like that out there. Hell, I might even be that person if the situation was right, you know what I mean?'

'Not really.' Kepler says with a smile. 

The kid laughs. And wipes his forehead with his thumb. 'Right. Well, that's why you're going in _there_ and I'm just an assistant. The highest altitude I'll ever reach is on a commercial airline flight.'

'You want to be an astronaut?'

'Who doesn't?'

'It wasn't my first career choice. Definitely not what I wanted to be when I was your age. Why do you want to be an astronaut?'

Charlie looks at him and gestures with both hands. 

'Because it's freakin' _cool_. And, well, have you ever been out to the country?'

'Yes. I spent a lot of my youth in Utah.'

'You know how the stars are super visible there? I've only seen them a few times when I visit my grandparents in Nevada. But there's nothing else like that in the city. The feeling of being so small. So insignificant. So... precious. I just can't even imagine how much stronger that feeling could be when you're up there, literally surrounded by stars. Aw man, I get goosebumps just thinking about it.'

'Yeah,' Says Kepler. 'That's a very good reason to have.'

Charlie gives him a shy smile. He comes to a stop in front of a nondescript gray door with a slim glass window down the middle. 'You can go right on in, but before you do, could I ask you a personal question, Sir? It'll have no impact on your interview. I'm just curious.'

'What is it?' 

'Why do _you_ want to go to space?'

'I only wanted to make a difference. That's all.' He pauses with his hand stretched toward the door handle. 'Though I will say, the view _is_ pretty damn sweet. Better than any expectations I ever had.' He says, grinning mirthfully as the realization hits Charlie. 'Hope you see it for yourself someday, kid.'

Behind him, the door clicks shut in the middle of Charlie's dismayed inhale. In front of him, the farthest wall in the room is a floor-ceiling window overlooking the launch feild. An exceptionally large aircraft sits gleaming on the massive tarmac. Not as large as the Hephaestus was, but still impressive in its own right. It's longer, sleeker. Built with speed in mind, no doubt, and bullet-like in shape. The white paint of its body shines mercilessly under the clear morning sky. A bold black logo marks the tailend of the ship. 

_ESSE._ Earth Space Science and Exploration. 

The logo is identical to the one printed on the back of a jacket worn by the figure in front of him. 

'President Renée Minkowski.’ Kepler drawls. ‘It's an honor to be here, Sir.' 

Minkowski turns from the glass and gives him a smile that wrinkles the skin around her eyes. She hasn't changed much since they last saw each other. Not on the surface, at least. Kepler knows better than to be deceived by appearances.

'You know, Kepler, I wasn't sure if you would show up.' 

'I'll be honest, the new company name will take some time to get used to.' Says Kepler. 'But I like what you've done with the place. It's very... hmm... homey.' He waves a hand to indicate the general modern decor. 

'Already deflecting the topic, I see.'

'Sorry, sometimes I just can't shut up about interior design.'

'Take a seat, Kepler. Maybe if we start now we can finish before the day is through.' She nods to a single armchair on the other side of her desk. She herself folds into a chair on her side, illuminated from behind by the sun beaming through the giant glass panes, which make her seem small in comparison. Another mere matter of appearance. 

Kepler sits down. Minkowski flattens both hands on the desk. 'You did, after all, come here by your own volition. Which I can only take to mean that you _want_ to do this.'

'I do.' He says, and only after he's said it does he know how much he means it. The sight of the ship makes the hair on the back of his neck rise. 'Is that...?'

'The U.S.S. Helios. Our newest baby. She's been on a few test flights but this will be her first voyage outside of Earth's neighborhood. She'll be piloted by Isabel Lovelace, who will be the Captain of this journey. You remember her, right? I want you to be her 2nd in command.'

'I remember. It's only been a few years, and she's not someone easily forgotten, by any means.' He clears his throat, and crosses one leg over the other. 'Minkowski... why, may I ask, are you offering this position to me? After everything that I—'

'Your resume is infuriatingly good. You have more experience than any of the other candidates combined. Besides, we didn't exactly part ways on a bad note.' She raises one shoulder in a quick shrug. 'You stayed true to your word and lived a quiet life these past few years.'

'I never intended to come back here.'

'I don't doubt that. I'm offering you a position that you have every right to decline. But let me tell you about it, first.' Minkowski swivels to her computer monitor and makes a few clicks with her mouse. The surface of the desk lights up to reveal an LED display built right into it. Several pages of documents pop up. Kepler leans forward for a better look. In the center of the documents is a single image of a coral-pink sphere. 

'Planet Vesta. Ever heard of it?'

'No Sir.'

'Me neither. Not until I went deep into Cutter's files. What's interesting to me is that this has been marked as a complete project, but there are no details that reveal what exactly that project was.'

'Yeah Cutter wasn't a huge fan of sharing his secrets. He'd tell you enough information to be able to brag, but not enough for you to use his own information against him.'

'I believe it. Look, there's a whole page that describes the planet's surface. "For much of its life, Vesta was a cold planet covered primarily in sheets of ice miles thick. Until an incident observed in 1968 when a large asteroid (See: section Perses) knocked it out of orbit, causing it to settle much closer to its sun. The resulting severe change in global temperature evaporated 97% of the ice, revealing a rocky surface split by canyons and complex caverns that in comparison make Earth's darling Grand Canyon look like a papercut."'

'Sounds lovely.' 

'I want to send you there.'

'For what purpose?'

'To land on the surface. Over the course of two years, I want you to set up an enclosed living habitat and perform as many tests as you can to determine the plausibility of building a station on the surface.'

'And in the event that there are lifeforms on this planet?'

'It's unlikely. This project wasn't mentioned anywhere in Cutter's Intelligent Lifeforms encyclopedia. But if there are... that's all the more reason for me to want you on the team.'

'Of course.'

'Look, I'll give you a few days to think about it. But the rest of the team has already been assembled. I know it's short notice for you, but we plan to launch in 2 weeks. If you're in, show up for the 7 AM meeting on Monday.' 

Kepler leans back in his chair and stretches his arms behind his head, glances at the ship over Minkowski's shoulder, burns the shape into his mind, and carefully recalls the feeling of being carved from molten stone as his body stitched itself into existence cell by cell. Then he eases himself to his feet and extends a hand to Minkowski. 

He sighs out of his nose. 

'I'm in.'

-

'So how do you wanna do this? Good cop bad cop?' Kepler asks, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The heat radiating from the black tarmac under his boots permeates the soles. It's not enough to be uncomfortable, but given enough time it would be. 

'As long as I get to be bad cop.' Says Lovelace, before she goes back to picking at her gums with a toothpick. Unlike Kepler she had the foresight to bring a pair of stylish cat eyed sunglasses.

'Deal.'

Lovelace side-eyes him and opens her mouth to say something when the tunnel door opens. President Minkowski leads a row of six people in tow, each dressed modestly and carrying a small duffel bag of personal belongings. Minkowski prompts them to give their names. In total they stand as two Geologists, a Doctor, a Computer Scientist, a Botanist, and an Architect. 

'And your Communications Officer is running a bit late,' Minkowski says with a glance at her phone. 'I'll go check on him. Why don't you all start getting to know each other?'

'Alright,' Says Lovelace with her signature rigid back and no-nonsense hard stare. 'My name is Isabel Lovelace but you can call me Sir. I will be your Captain on this mission. This is a no bullshit, no shenanigans, no funny business ship. Which means this operation will only run smoothly if you prioritize your duties, perform each action no matter how small as if your life depended on it, and keep no secrets. If you fuck up, you report it, so we can fix it. As a team. If you discover something of value, or out of the ordinary, during our time on Vesta, you report it to the rest of your crew so that we may all be prepared to act accordingly in any possible foreign situations. Science allows us to anticipate a lot about space. Allows us to prepare for almost every unlikely scenario. But there will always be the unknown, because our knowledge is limited to our corner of the universe and what we can observe with our human eyes, and human-made machines. 

‘Our mission is to expand the reach of the human mind. To learn as much as we can, and bring that information home. In the best case scenario Vesta will prove to be an ideal location for building human structures for the future expansion of space travel. If not, the mission will still have been a success, because we will have useful data that can be applied to consecutive missions. Any questions?' The recruits shuffle and glance at each other, but no one speaks up. 'Good. Standing beside me is Warren Kepler. He's been on more missions to space than any of you will ever dream of, and the fact that he's still alive to tell the tales should speak volumes about his resilience, dedication, and decision making. He loves the sound of his own voice so I'm sure you'll be hearing his stories whether you want to or not. Did I miss anything, Kepler?'

Kepler clears his throat and looks at the faces of each crew member. 'No, I think that about covers it Captain. However, I would like to add one thing. If ever your duties seem like 'too much' for you handle, remember that you are on this mission only because you deserve it. You were chosen because our testing proved you to be valuable, and absolutely crucial, to the addition of this crew. That being said, in the likely event that the Captain is too hard on you, I'll gladly kiss your hurt ego to make it feel bet-'

' _So_ sorry I'm late,' A body tumbles through the door, panting and a little wobbly, but with a smile warmer than midsummer. He straightens and rubs the back of his head, displacing long wavy brown locks. 'Pre-flight nerves, am I right?' He says to the nearest crew member, a tall man with an impressive neck tattoo. Kepler remembers him as the Tech Guy, but his attention is entirely fixed on the new arrival. The late Communications Officer. 

'We were just finishing introductions,' Says Lovelace, 'Why don't you share with the class your name, position, and favorite hobby?'

There's a smile in Lovelace's voice but Kepler doesn't turn to check, doesn't think he could even if he tried with how everything in his body, including and especially his heart, seemed to grind to a halt.

'Communications Officer Doug Eiffel, at your service. As for my hobby... uh, does walking my dog count? I'm gonna miss her so much.'

A groan escapes from the Botanist, Vova. 'Same here.'

'It's always hard leaving my family.' Says Kim the Architect.

'My son is only 4 months old.' From Huey, the tattooed techie, followed by a chorus of sympathetic noises.

Minkowski returns back through the same door with arms full of manila folders, which get passed around like grade school report cards. 

'I know you're all well aware by now what the overall goals of this mission are, as well as your own individually assigned jobs. But I've compiled a folder for each of you with the detailed specifics, as well as some general tips about space life. They're meant to help you build a routine of cycling tasks while you get used to your life on the station. Based on the data you send back, you may receive altered or additional tasks from HQ.' She clasps her empty hands. 'Alright, I think that about covers it. You're scheduled to take off in about... 42 minutes! I'll leave you guys to board and get comfortable. Earth-Space ATC will handle the takeoff procedures so this is the last you'll hear from me for a while. Commander Lovelace, I'm proud to leave this crew in your capable hands.' 

'Thank you, President.' They exchange a formal handshake, but the crinkles around their eyes lets Kepler know they must've gone through more extensive goodbyes in private. Lovelace claps her hands twice together and raises her voice. 'Okay, maggots. You heard the woman. Follow me.'

They board a small transport bus that takes them all the way to the belly of ship, which is already docked on the launch rail. An even smaller crane platform awaits to lift them to the ship's loading dock. They crowd out of the bus and onto the crane. Where, for whatever reason, the universe sees fit to press Eiffel and Kepler into each other's personal space. 

Eiffel smiles at him. All teeth and sunshine and warmth and Kepler feels it tug on every atom of his body. He tries to sever the feeling. Tries to push it down into nothingness. Into emptiness. Into that bottomless grave that used to consume everything he threw its way.

It doesn't work. The heat bobs back to the surface incessantly. He bites down on it, instead. Grinds his teeth and sucks it up. 

Kepler smiles back at Eiffel without meaning to. A simple chemical reaction. Nothing to worry about. 

Eiffel bites his lip and looks away. Kepler's heart melts and bursts and evaporates all at once. 

The lift eases to a stop and they march across a short walkway, through an open airlock, and into the U.S.S Helios. There, Kepler finds himself once again able to breathe. 

'Welcome aboard folks!' A cheery voice blossoms from the intercoms. 

'Good morning, Hera!' Lovelace calls out. 'How are pre-flight checks coming along?'

'All systems look good to go. Everything passed inspection this morning. So we're good to go as soon as ATC gives us the call.'

'Thank you. Let us know if we hit any delays. In the meantime, I'll get these kids settled and then maybe you and I can do some catching up.'

'I'd love that, Captain.'

Their personal belongings get placed into secure metal storage crates, and locked into a narrow closet in the Sleep Bay. From there, Lovelace leads them to the head of the ship with an assuredness that shows she's been on this ship before, at least to familiarize herself with its layout in the days leading up to the mission. 

Vaguely, Kepler wonders what ended up happening to the Urania, and resolves to ask her about it when he gets the chance. 

Once in the Navigation Center, they strap into padded seats and wait for liftoff. Kepler sits in the seat directly beside Lovelace and takes in the familiar array of navigation controls on the curved panel in front of them. The hairs on the back of his neck rise when he ghosts a hand over the buttons. Minkowski had full control of the Urania during their ride back back to Earth, and Kepler hasn't navigated a ship since— before. 

He has to remind himself that the Helios isn't his ship either. Lovelace is rightfully in charge, and he's only here as backup. But the feeling doesn't quite go away. Not during the lengthy and abundantly detailed takeoff protocols, and especially not during liftoff, when the Helios gets catapulted like a bullet to viciously pierce its way free of Earth's gravity and into the unforgiving wilderness of the galaxy.

Earth-Space ATC congratulates them on a successful takeoff, and wishes them a safe trip before breaking off their line of communication. Lovelace navigates the Helios onto its correct course, and punches the rest of their coordinates into Hera's autopilot function.

Once Hera is able to confirm that the Helios took no damage in the takeoff, all that's left for the crew to do is enter cryostasis. Kepler assures the first-time flyers, Huey and Fi, that there will be plenty of time to 'Ooh' and 'Aah' at the sights of outer space once they enter Vesta's neighborhood. Lovelace reminds them of just how critical time efficiency is in space, and how every wasted minute is another minute that prolongs their return to Earth. After that, they follow her to the cryostasis room without any complaints. 

Wellington, their on-board doctor, sets up each crew member with intravenous cannulas and electrode stickers. Kim returns the favor to Wellington, and one by one they strap into their cryo pods. 

Lovelace and Kepler supervise the crew to make sure they connect themselves to the various monitoring contraptions and life-support systems, and initiate their long slumbers correctly, until they're the only two people left awake. 

Lovelace floats over to her pod and unlatches the lid. Kepler feels the smooth plastic lid of his own pod waiting under his right palm. 

'Captain, may I ask you a question?'

'Is it important?'

'Well, I don't think I'll be able to have a good night's rest until I do.'

Already seated within her pod, Lovelace doesn't bother to look at him as she busies herself with hooking up her body to the machine. 'What is it?'

'Why did I not know about Eiffel?' 

'What do you mean?'

'Why was I not informed that Eiffel would be joining this mission?' 

At that, Lovelace turns to face him. She blinks.

'We weren't sure if he'd be ready in time. There have been some hiccups, as to be expected with his unique situation. But Eiffel still has his procedural memories.'

'All of them?'

'All the ones that we tested, yes. And we tested him for a long time. He still has all his work skills, Kepler. Eiffel is still an exceptional Communications Officer, even if he doesn't remember when or how he learned his skills.'

'So you decided to put him right back to work in the exact field that resulted in his memory loss in the first place?'

'It was his choice.' She says. 'We tried to dissuade him, but once Eiffel saw for himself the extent of his abilities, he insisted on going through an astronaut training course. Due to time constraints, we couldn't rush him through the entire course, but we did as much as we could to test his mind. If Minkowski trusts that he's ready for this, then I trust her. I've been keeping a close eye on him myself. And I think this could be good for him.'

'Alright,' He says, 'That's all very interesting, but you still haven't answered my initial question. Why wasn't I informed about any of this? Or at the very least, why did no one tell me that Eiffel would be a member of this crew when I was appointed as its 2nd in command?'

'It took us a long time to reach an agreement on you, Kepler. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I was in opposition of you joining ESSE. I talked you up in front of the crew because I need them to believe in you. To trust you. To see you as a capable authority figure. But you still have a lot to prove to _me_. You can start by making sure we all make it back to Earth alive this time. No exceptions.'

Kepler sees a small dark bullet hole appear in the center of her forehead. He knows, logically, that it isn't really there. But the illusion persists, even after Kepler rubs his eyes and refuses to stare at her head-on. Dark red blood trickles from the imaginary wound in the corner of his vision. 

'Captain,' He says, 'Sir, I want this mission to succeed. To me that means getting this crew to Planet Vesta, setting up a habitat on the surface, and keeping everyone in line while they do their jobs. And then when the time comes, making sure they all come home. All of them. There is no other agenda.'

'I'll believe it when I see it.' 

'Okay.' He says. And that's it. 'Okay.'

Kepler climbs into his sleeping pod and finally begins methodically attaching himself to the machine. He double and triple checks everything is properly set up and running before gripping the overhead handle to shut the pod.

'Kepler, wait.' 

Kepler peers at Lovelace mid-motion and waits. The bullet wound isn't there this time.

'Most people don't get the opportunity to have a second chance at life, unlike you and I do. Kepler, I can't forget the things you've done, and I can't forgive them, either. But it's not my job to hold you accountable for your crimes. That's on you. You can make the choices to be a better person this time around. You can _do_ better. So far you've been... decent. Don't fuck up now.' Lovelace doesn't wait for a response. She lays back in her pod and seals the lid with a muffled hiss. 

Kepler settles back and does the same.

The sound of the following hydraulic lock and seal of the chamber is as familiar to him as the sound of gunshots. He keeps his eyes open and quickly reroutes that train of thought. In its place, his mind conjures up thoughts of Eiffel. 

He ends up on the Urania, in the middle of receiving an unexpected distress signal from an unidentified spacecraft. Eiffel's voice crackles through the comms system to call it the U.S.S Unending Nightmare. He asks for help. Eiffel's voice, strained and tired, void of all hope, reaches the Urania against all odds. He floats, withering and drifting in a small chunk of metal, more alone than any human has ever been, when Kepler finds him and sees him face-to-face for the first time. 

Goosebumps break across Kepler's skin as a hiss fills the interior of the cryostasis pod. The sound grows unbearably loud in his mind and his eyelids fight to stay open and it feels so, so cold, and a strange salty taste fills his mouth and then there is nothing. 

The Helios jumps 3 million light years from the Milky Way Galaxy to the M33 Galaxy, following a preprogrammed course that takes them through a series of dimensional wrinkles and antimatter clouds. Later, Hera's internal clock will let them know the trip lasted the equivalent of 4 Earth Months. 

She wakes them 24 hours prior to projected orbit entry. 

Groggy, they each emerge from their pods and begin the process of putting life and substance back into their cold bodies. Slowly, so as not to upset their digestive tracts or send their bodies into shock, they sip vanilla-flavored protein packs and wander to the frontal Observation Deck of the Helios to catch a glimpse of their destination. 

Vesta is a vibrant blue and orange sphere in the middle of the inky black night of space. Giant white streaks cut across its surface like ancient icy claw marks. Scars that will fade in time. It hangs in its place and silently waits for their arrival like a patient rusty-blue marble on a speckled black-velvet pillow. 

The Helios Crew crowds around the observation window and communicate their wordless thoughts to it one-sidedly. They stay there for nearly an hour until Lovelace shoos them away to get to work. 

During the first day, work consists of maintenance, activity recording, and health checkups to make sure everyone made it through cryostasis in one piece. Kepler's job is to merely make rounds through the ship and ensure everyone is able to do their jobs efficiently. Once that's finished, they pile back into the Observation Deck and socialize while Vesta grows bigger and bigger and more impressive with each passing hour. 

Kepler finds himself zoning out when Kim and Baxter pull out family photos and start passing them around, listing off names and traits and fond memories. Vova, Wellington, and Fi have no photos to show. Huey has a tacky photobooth reel of himself with his girlfriend, but laments about not having any physical photos of his newborn. 

Lovelace either doesn't have photos, or chooses not to bring them. Kepler knows she had a family before all this, but has no idea if she's contacted them since her revival. He doesn't know if he would, if he were in her shoes. If he had a family. 

It's Eiffel's voice that eventually pulls Kepler out of his head.

'Her name is Furiosa. AKA The Destroyer, or Lil' Licky.' Eiffel passes around a polaroid of himself crouched next to a large husky on a lake dock. Kepler accepts it from Fi and holds it by the edges. 'Though she's not really 'little' anymore. I adopted her in November.'

Kepler passes on the photo to Vova, who accepts it with a large gentle hand and an even bigger smile. 

'Reminds me of when I was little boy. We had plenty of big dogs. They are good dogs, this breed. Beautiful.'

'She's an angel.' Eiffel gushes. 'Very energetic, but she loves kids. Which is great because I had to leave her with my— uh, my daughter.'

Nobody asks Eiffel why he brought a photo of his dog instead of his daughter. The polaroid makes it way back to Eiffel and he tucks it into his brown jacket. Baxter takes the silence as an opportunity to launch into another story about his entrepreneur son. Soon after, Eiffel slips out of the room without a word. Kepler notices and follows after a minute of internal debate. 

He finds him outside, in the hallway just around the corner, gripping the rails along the walls. Their eyes meet and Kepler pulls himself to a stop with the same railing, just a few feet away. 

'I take it the sight isn't as exciting to someone who's been to a hundred different planets?' Eiffel asks. 

'This is only my 7th planet contact mission.'

'Jeez, brag about it.' 

'Why did you leave the room then, if it's so spectacular?'

'Just needed a break, that's all. So that I could crave cigarettes in peace. You know how fucked up it is to crave things I don't remember getting addicted to?'

'That is pretty fucked up.' Kepler agrees. He floats a little closer to Eiffel and turns his back to the rail, holding onto it with both hands. 'If it helps, addiction... isn't uncommon. Especially to cigarettes.'

'That doesn't exactly make it a good thing.'

'Touché.'

'Are you addicted to anything?'

'Not really.'

'Lucky man.'

'You could say that.'

Eiffel's long hair floats around his head in the zero-gravity like a halo of curls. Kepler passes a hand over his head to make sure his own hair is still frozen in place with the gel he applied a few hours ago. 

'Eiffel, I'm curious about something.'

'What's that?'

'Lovelace said she couldn't get an answer out of you about this, but it still seems worth a try. Why are you here? On this mission, I mean. Why choose to come back to this?'

Eiffel rubs his thumb against the inside of his middle finger, and works his jaw chewing over potential words. He stares at Kepler and Kepler stares back. 

'I wake up, right? And I'm sitting in a chair, in a spaceship, orbiting a freaky star inhabited by aliens. I don't remember my name, my family, or friends. I don't even remember Earth or what it looks like. I have no memories, Kepler. All I have are tapes filled with recordings of the time I spent on the Hephaestus. 

'When we landed on Earth, you guys called it home. But that's not what it was for me. Earth was a strange, new place that I had never been to before. What does 'home' mean to you, Kepler?'

'... It's a place of safety. Somewhere you want to go back to? I've had many homes, Eiffel. The word doesn't mean much to me anymore. At one point I might've even said the Urania was my home.'

'I think memories are a big part of what creates a home. You spent a lot of time on the Urania, and made a lot of memories there. That's just how time works. I spent a long time trying to make a home on Earth. But nothing felt familiar. _My_ earliest memories are of being on the Urania. Being with you, Renée, Lovelace, Jacobi and Hera. To me... that's home. This,' He gestures to the empty hallway, 'The stars, the ship, being with you guys... that's home. Or, I thought it was. But now that I'm here, it...'

'Still doesn't feel right?'

'... Yeah.

'Well, it's only been a day. And it's a new ship. With a new crew.'

'Yeah. I know. I just,' He sighs, 'Thought it'd be different. Thought it'd feel right, but I feel just as lost as before. And if this isn't home, then where—? What else are my options? Where do I go from here?'

'I don't know, Eiffel. I don't know.'

'Sorry, I—'

'No, It's fine. I'm sorry too.' Kepler tilts his head back and looks at the narrow light fixtures built into the 'ceiling'. He rubs a hand across his forehead. 'Hey, maybe you weren't wrong to try your luck away from Earth. As long as you're out here among the stars, you may yet find home in an unexpected place.'

Eiffel huffs and crosses his arms. 'Do you really think Vesta could be inhabitable?'

'It's possible. We wouldn't be out here if it wasn't. And even if it isn't, we'll keep looking.'

'Have any of the planets you've been to before been habitable?'

'Not for humans, no. But that isn't why Goddard sent me to them.'

'So you're telling me I should make a home for myself on some distant alien planet that no one's ever been to before?'

'I'm saying don't give up.'

'Easier said than done.'

'I know.'

'What are they like? The planets you've been to?'

'Desolate, for the most part. Hostile, and much smaller than Earth. Though a few of them were pretty interesting. Maybe when we get back from this mission I can convince Minkowski to let us take a vacation flight to Astraeus, my favorite planet. It's purple, dusty, and crawling with these cute little critters that worship anything with a charming smile.' Kepler graces Eiffel with his prettiest smile. 'Though, if I brought you along, I might lose my spot as their favorite deity.' 

'Yeah, well, that might be good for your ego.'

'Does that mean you want to go?'

Eiffel rolls his eyes and graces Kepler with a tiny smile that still manages to pull at Kepler's pulse. 'Yeah, I do.'

'Good. I'll look forward to it.'

Eiffel's smile drops and his lips part. His eyes dart away and then back again. 

'Hey, do you— I mean— I still—'

'Eiffel?'

'Look, I—' He takes a deep breath and twists his hands together. 'I... left you... because I needed to find myself. And I don't regret it, but what I didn't realize at the time is that everyone spends their whole lives trying to find themselves. Constantly redefining what it means to be you. Even through the smallest actions; Like trying a new brand of orange juice because it's on sale at the store one day, and realizing that, wow, it turns out orange juice is actually capable of tasting good and that you actually kind of like how it tastes now. So you become a person who buys a carton of orange juice from the grocery store every week.

'And sometimes you find something bigger than a new breakfast routine. Like digging up a Utah University hoodie from the bottom of your closet. And realizing... just how much you miss a certain someone. And then you can't stop missing that person because you can't just shove the hoodie back into the bottom of your closet, you've already opened a floodgate of feelings and memories. So from then on, you spend every morning drinking orange juice and thinking of that person.'

'Eiffel...?'

'I wanted to call you. But I kept chickening out. And then Renée told me she was considering you for this job but it was still really up in the air. So I made a deal with myself. If you rejected the job then I'd leave it all in the past, and donate the hoodie to Goodwill or something. But if you accepted, then, well... I'd have to tell you. That I still can't get you out of my head.'

Kepler's head spins. He twists his palms against the railing and tries to breathe. 'But— why? I mean, your family— and— all the things I've done.'

'Look, you're not perfect. You've done some fucked up things and so have I. We all have. The blame for those things can only be placed on our own shoulders to carry. So, I know you don't want to let go of the person you used to be. I wouldn't ask you to, either. But I don't know that Kepler. I never met him. The Warren Kepler I _did_ meet is caring, infuriatingly charming, surprisingly gentle, and trying his best to be better. And you're like, so attractive it should be illegal.' Eiffel's face is pink but he smiles when he shrugs and leans closer. 'What's there not to like?'

'You have thought about this.'

'A lot.'

'I don't— Eiffel— I don't know if I can be what you need.'

'I can honestly say the same about me. We're both a couple of hot messes. But we can figure it out together. That is— if you want it. If you want— me. God, I haven't even asked, I just kind of assumed— Because you—'

Kepler feels like he's slipping and floating and flying and diving all at once. 

'I do want you.' He admits. 

His hands find Eiffel and then his arms are full and Eiffel is in his face, lips just an inch away, breath hot and pupils wide. They lock eyes and Eiffel locks his hands behind Kepler's head to keep from floating away, and then they're kissing. 

Softly, sweetly, gently. 

Kepler holds him and Eiffel digs his face into Kepler's neck. 

'You really still have my University hoodie?' Kepler asks.

'Um, yup. Sure do. And before you ask, I'm not giving it back.'

'That's alright.' Kepler squeezes him tighter. 'That's just alright with me.'

-

Shortly after breakfast the next day, the Helios glides into Vesta's orbit. Hera announces over the intercom when their orbit achieves stability, and Captain Lovelace gives the order to begin their duties.

They won't be landing on the surface for a few more days, but there's a lot of work to be done in preparation. Imaging equipment, drones, and satellites need to be tested and sent down to Vesta ahead of time to collect data and begin mapping the surface. The data they collect will also be used to determine possible landing zones. 

Even when swamped with work, the crew members try to steal glimpses of Vesta whenever possible. Between shifts and while passing windows in transit across the ship, Vesta's cracked and torn surface pleas for their eyes to pick apart its vibrant mysteries. Kepler catches Fi and Kim sneaking away to one of the smaller observation decks during mealtimes to study it even in their downtime. Their hushed excitement reminds him of his very first trip to a foreign planet, the enthrallment evoked by the first few days, and lets them go without conflict. 

They thank him for it. 

The next day, Vova approaches Kepler in an empty hallway with a small packet of seeds tucked carefully into his large jumpsuit. Vova is, to put it simply, a bear of man. He towers over Kepler and would no doubt be a formidable opponent in a fist fight. Yet he holds these tiny plastic baggies and simply explains to Kepler that his department sent him up with only vegetable seeds and potato starters, and he couldn't resist the temptation to smuggle a packet of sunflower seeds.

'To brighten up the area.' He insists. 

'Don't sunflowers grow to be quite big? The Helios isn't a very spacious ship.'

'I'll grow them in my own bedroom if I have to. With your permission of course, Sir.'

'Will they produce edible seeds?'

'Of course. I am a professional.'

'Well in that case,' Kepler claps his shoulder. 'As long as I get to eat some, grow all the flowers you want.'

'Oh, good. I brought sweet peas and lavender too.' He pulls two more packets out of his sleeves. Kepler pushes them back inside.

'Now _those_ you'd better keep out of sight. For your own sake.'

'Understood.' Vova shakes Kepler's hand. 'Would you like me to notify you when they sprout?'

'Sure, I'll swing by to check out your garden. That sounds like a lovely time.'

Vova smiles, showing off the glint of several gold teeth. 'Good man.' He says, and lightly punches Kepler's shoulder. 'I will keep in touch. It will be beautiful. I guarantee.'

-

'—And they actually thought I was one of them.' Kepler says, finishing his story. 

Jogging on the treadmill directly in front of him, Kim shakes her head, sending her long black ponytail swaying back and forth. 'Good Christ...' 

With the treadmill bolted to the opposite wall, Kepler only sees the top of her head as she goes through her scheduled zero-gravity workout. Kepler himself is strapped to the cycling machine, working his lower body to ensure his muscles won't atrophy. From a few feet down the hall, Huey pauses his deadlifting. 'How... um, yeah I just have one question?'

'Shoot.'

'How long did it take you to get all that... goo out?'

'Not until I had access to running water again, months later.'

Kim groans. Her legs don't falter in their momentum.

'Why didn't you just,' Huey gestures to his own head, 'Shave it off?'

'I tried the buzzcut look when I was in college. Doesn't work for me.'

'But—'

'There are many things I am willing to give up for the sake of efficiency, Officer Huey. My good looks are not among them.'

'Did it smell?' Kim asks.

'My nose went completely numb to it after a few days. Oh, Eiffel, have you come to join us?'

Drifting into the room wearing his workout clothes, Eiffel catches a railing and glances around at all the taken machines.

'I was hoping to.' He says.

'I've just got 5 minutes left on this set.' Huey reaches for his simulated weights and resumes his workout. 'You can have the machine then.'

'Great, thanks.'

'Kepler was just telling us about his trip to Planet J318.' Says Kim. 

Eiffel makes a face. 'Is that the one with the goo?'

'Yup.'

'That story isn't going to make them think you're cool.' Says Eiffel, drifting closer to Kepler. 

Kim snorts. 'Was that your plan?' She asks.

'Of course not.'

'Come on now, don't lie.' Eiffel toys with one of the loose ends of Kepler's harness. 'Remember what Captain Lovelace said about staying honest?'

Kepler watches Eiffel's hands. 'My apologies. That's exactly what I was trying to do.'

'In that case, you should've ended the story with when you first crash landed on the planet. That part was actually kind of badass.' Says Huey, with effort. A vein bulges in his neck and distorts the sharp angles of his tattoo. 

'When did Kepler tell you this story, Eiffel?' Kim asks.

'I heard it from Jacobi, actually. A uh, former colleague. Says he can't look at anything lime-colored without thinking of that incident.' 

'I don't blame him. When I was a kid I ate too many blue jolly ranchers and now I can't eat any blue-colored candies without feeling nauseous.' Says Kim. 

'I think we've all got a story or two like that.' Says Huey, letting go of the weights with a groan and unbuckling his harness. 'Machine's all yours Eiffel. I am going straight to bed.'

'Please shower first.' Kim pleads. 'I don't want my nose to have to grow numb to your sweat.'

'Yeah, yeah.' 

Huey slides through the air with all his long lanky limbs and once he's gone Eiffel takes his place. He takes his own harness down from the ceiling and clips it around him, and to the machine. He logs his ID into the terminal and begins his workout.

The movie Kepler brought in to watch on his tablet remains paused and forgotten.

'So, you two were on a mission before, right?' Kim asks. 'Do you have any cool stories to tell from then?'

Kepler smiles. 'Not really. Most boring mission of my life, if I'm being honest.'

'Really? But I heard it was what lead to Minkowski getting hired among the board of directors, which eventually lead to her becoming the president of ESSE.'

'Is that what she told you?'

'Yes. She personally looked over our recruitment and training.' She pauses her running and twists her head up to look at Kepler. 'You really don't have any stories?'

'Nope.'

'I have one.' Says Eiffel.

Kepler side-eyes him. 'Do you, now?'

'On our way back to Earth we watched a bunch of movies to pass the time. Since we were using Kepler's ship, most of the movies on board were from his personal collection. There were a few foreign films and dramatic spy espionage movies, and weirdly artsy westerns, but for the most part all he had in his private collection were romcoms, and all four seasons of Letterkenny. The real kicker? All of them were pirated.'

Kim gasps. 'No fuckin' way.' 

'I do love a good comedy.' Says Kepler.

'And dodging the law, apparently.' Kim says with an impish grin. 'I never would have guessed. You seem so... military.'

'Only on the outside.' Says Eiffel. 'On the inside he's just a big softie. But you have to dig real deep to get there.'

'And how did you manage to get him to open up to you?'

'Must be my irresistible good looks.'

'No way.' She whips back to look at Kepler. 'Really?'

Kepler looks at Eiffel long and hard. 'Don't—' He clears his throat. 'Don't sell yourself so short, Eiffel. Your looks aren't your only good feature.'

Kim looks a second away from spouting off a million questions, but before she can, Fi enters the room and asks her to double check the genetic sequence of her latest top secret science project. Aside from her specialty as an architect, Kim has a phD in biochemistry, so she diverts her full attention to the task at hand. 

In the meantime, Kepler tries to quietly get Eiffel's attention. He finally notices when Kepler chucks his water packet in the direction of his head. 

'Hm?'

'What are you playing at?' Kepler mumbles.

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'I think you do know exactly what I'm talking about.'

'I'm just trying to get through my required exercise hours, Sir.' But he lets go of his simulated weights and plucks the water packet still spinning in the air by his head. He pops the top off and takes a long hard sip while looking Kepler directly in the eyes.

Kepler doesn't remember a time in his life when his mouth felt dryer than it feels right now. 

'Hey wow it's getting kind of hot in here.' Says Eiffel, thumbing at the hem of his tank top. 'Would you mind if I did the rest of my workout topless?'

'Pardon?'

Eiffel's harness comes off and then his tanktop follows suit. It only makes it up a few inches, which is still a few inches too many, before Kepler stops cycling. 

'Eiffel, could you please step into my office?' He asks, while tearing off his own harness.

'Uh, I'm pretty sure you don't have an—'

'Come here, Eiffel.' 

'Right away, Sir.'

Kepler leads Eiffel past the curious glances of Kim and Fi, out of the exercise room, and down the hall into an empty storage unit. 

Later, this room would be used to transport samples back to Earth. But for the time being there are only elastic bands cutting across from wall to wall, that would later keep boxes and items from drifting out of the room and into the rest of the spaceship.

'Nice office. Very roomy.' Says Eiffel. 

Kepler crosses his arms and ignores the jab. 'Now, would you like to tell me what that was all about?'

'Captain Lovelace is tired of your Good Cop act. Says you're even more of a nuisance when you're nice. So she asked me to have a talk with you.'

Kepler wasn't expecting an actual answer. It takes a second to sink in, and while Lovelace's complaint makes sense, it doesn't explain the way Eiffel went about it. 'And that's your idea of having a talk?' He asks.

'I just like seeing you get riled up.'

'Boy, you haven't seen me get riled up.'

'I'm pretty sure I have. On more than one occasion.'

'Oh yeah? Enlighten me.'

'There was that time on your couch, and in your car—'

'That is a different kind of riled up.'

Eiffel shrugs. 'Maybe it's the one I want.'

Kepler's eyebrows shoot up. He smiles and speaks very carefully. 'Eiffel. We are on a spaceship.'

'Really? I hadn't noticed.'

'One that we share with eight other people.'

'Then why haven't I heard you say no yet?'

'I'm. Riled. Up.'

'Huh, what a coincidence. So am I.'

'Eiffel.'

'Yes?'

'Would you be so kind as to lock that door there?'

'Certainly, Sir.'

'Hera, I need you to shut off your audio and visual monitoring of this room for an hour.'

Eiffel snorts. 'An hour? Isn't that a bit gener—'

'I'd advise against that, Kepler.’ She says. ‘If something were to malfunction in that room during that time—'

'It's not up for debate.'

'But—'

'Please?' Eiffel aks nicely.

' _Ugh_. Fine. But just this once and never again.'

'Thank you, Hera.'

Eiffel watches the camera fixed into the wall beside the door until its small yellow light goes out, and then drops his eyes to Kepler, neck exposed, bottom lip rolled between his teeth. Kepler's hands dig into the elastic wires at his back and he quirks a brow at Eiffel. 

Pushing away from the door, Eiffel crosses the short distance of the storage room and hooks fingers into the crossed wires to either side of Kepler. His momentum pushes him right into Kepler's space, chest-to-chest. Kepler parts his legs to make room and coyly watches Eiffel's cheeks turn pretty and red. 

'We don't have all day.' He says. 'You managed to get me all to yourself. Now what are you gonna do about it, Eiffel?'

He moves his hand to the back of Kepler's neck and pulls him in. 

Kisses him on the lips and keeps him from floating away. Kepler lifts his legs higher and hooks them around Eiffel's hips, earning a surprised grunt from Eiffel, followed quickly by a vocal sigh. 

Letting go of the wire, Kepler gives himself over to weightlessness.

He palms Eiffel through his soft cotton pants and feels him get harder and hotter. Eiffel's hand drops to Kepler's lower back and pulls him closer, seeking pressure and contact and friction. Kepler tightens his thighs and tries, futilely, to buck up against him. Eiffel laughs into his neck at the attempt.

Then his hand slides lower. Over the curve of his ass and slowly, toward the middle of it. 

'Can— Can I...?' Eiffel asks. 'Just my fingers. Unless—'

'No. That's good. Fingers are good. For now. I don't think this is an ideal location for anything beyond that.'

'But, later? Do you want—?'

'Yes.' He says and his body seeks out another kiss from Eiffel. 

'Okay,' Eiffel says on an exhale. 'Okay.'

Kepler watches as Eiffel's fingers move up to his wet lips and hover there in a question. He parts his mouth without thinking. Only acting. 

Calloused skin slides against his tongue as he takes Eiffel's index and middle fingers in. His mouth pools with spit, and Eiffel scissors his fingers to let Kepler slick them up entirely. Kepler tries not to think about the face he must be making right now. If the blush persisting on Eiffel's entire face is any indication, it can't be that bad.

Eiffel pulls his fingers out and replaces the space with his tongue, and a moment later Kepler's underwear is being sloppily tugged down. A wet coldness brushes his entrance and he forces his muscles to relax. 

Gently teasing the outer ring with Kepler's own spit, Eiffel takes it slow. Waiting patiently until Kepler truly relaxes and opens up for him. 

At that moment Kepler is aware of only two things. That vulnerable part of his body now being touched by Doug Eiffel himself, and his painfully hard dick. 

'Does it hurt?' Eiffel asks, seriously.

It takes a minute for Kepler to find his voice, lost among gasps and shaky whines. 'Just a sting. It's alright, just keep it slow. You're doing good.'

_Better than good._

He glances down into the tight space between their bodies, down to where Eiffel's other hand has freed Kepler's dick to play with it. To alternate open-palmed pressure and featherlight fingertip caresses. The sight alone is enough send a hint of precum to glisten at his slit.

Curling around Eiffel's shoulders, Kepler pants through his open mouth and weakly rubs closed fists against Eiffel's back. Pressure builds and sweet euphoric heat blooms in his bloodstream. He forces his hands open to feel more of Eiffels skin, to push and pull at it, and feel the solidity of him in his arms.

It doesn't take long for Kepler to cum, floating together in Eiffel's crushing sweaty embrace, being fucked open on Eiffel's long fingers. 

Eiffel wipes his hand on the inside of Kepler's underwear as he pulls them back up and secures them comfortably while Kepler catches his breath. He pulls his shirt off and uses it to clean up his cum before it floats away and causes innumerable problems. Then he clings bonelessly to Eiffel's shoulders and peppers kisses under his ear until his brain functions return. 

Leaning back, he eyes the tent still in Eiffel's pants. 

'Want me to suck you off?' He asks with a head tilt and a low whisper. Eiffel's hips twitch and his eyes flick down to Kepler's lips.

'I'm all yours.' Eiffel says through a grin. 'I'll just, uh,' He reaches back for the handle next to the door and presses himself against it. 'For leverage.'

Kepler follows him and coaxes his thighs gently open. He unties Eiffel's pants and tugs them down just until his cock jumps out, half hard and dark with blood. He tries not to stare but the sight of him, hair loose and sticking to the sides of his sweaty face, chiseled meaty arms raised to clutch the handle behind him, knees spread to either side of Kepler, inner thigh muscles tightening with the attention, was too good to pass up.

Licking his lips, Kepler gives Eiffel a few slow open-palmed rubs, closing his fingers only on the way down. Eiffel, bright red and vulnerable, closes his eyes and tucks his face into his arm. Kepler grips the base of his dick and taps his fingers on Eiffel's belly. 

'Eiffel,' He says. 'You have no idea how sexy you look right now.'

Eiffel twists and opens his eyes a crack. 

'Hottest damn thing I've seen in the galaxy.' 

Eiffel whimpers. Kepler slides Eiffel's shirt up a few inches and pulls himself down to kiss the side of his mouth. Eiffel turns into it and bites back, nibbling on Kepler's lower lip. It startles a laugh out of Kepler and he gives Eiffel a long deep kiss before climbing down and putting his lips elsewhere. 

The feeling of fingers on his tongue is nothing compared to the stretch of a hard dick, sliding through ready lips and into his hot mouth. A hand on Eiffel's ass keeps him from drifting away with each movement. It's still awkward, Kepler would've prefered to hold Eiffel down against- anything, really- but this was interesting too. He could do nothing about the small thrusts, about the way Eiffel squirmed, could only chase him with his mouth. It was the messiest head he'd given in his entire life. 

'Warren,' Eiffel sighs. Head thrown back, gripping the handle for dear life. 'Warren, I'm close.'

Kepler snakes one hand down to teases the sensitive skin of his underside. The next time he sinks back around the thick heat, Eiffel's hot cum hits the roof of Kepler's mouth. He sucks and swallows until Eiffel goes limp. Planting a final kiss at the tip, Kepler tugs his pants back up. Eiffel immediately crowds into his space, clinging to him by the neck, drooping with content sleepiness. 

'That was so worth it.' He mumbles. 

'Yeah,' Kepler has to agree. 'But it's not happening again. Not as long as we’re aboard the Helios.'

'Whatever you say.'

'We're not teenagers, Eiffel. We can survive this.'

'We'll just have to see about that.'

'Come on, let's get to the showers. We need to get rid of the evidence.'

'Mmm. In a minute.'

'Hera won't stay offline forever.'

'We still have some time left. Let's just stay like this for a little while longer.' He says, and holds Kepler even tighter. 

'We have time.'

-

Finally, the highly anticipated day of their descent to Vesta's surface arrives.

Hera studiously lists off the safety checklist and emergency protocols while they suit up outside the shuttle airlock. Huey grumbles about having a sour stomach and Wellington has to take off her entire suit to fix her sock before tediously suiting up again. Vova is the first to climb into the shuttle and strap himself in. Kim is the next to go, and after that the rest of them shuffle onboard with less apprehension. Kepler closes the airlock firmly shut and takes his seat. 

Captain Lovelace floats at the head of the shuttle with one hand on the back of her seat, and the other cradling her helmet. 

'Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty excited to get down there.'

Nervous laughter escapes from Kim before she manages to stop and apologize. 

'It's okay.' Lovelace continues. 'Remember, the most important thing to keep in mind once we land is to stick together. The second-most important thing is to stick to the schedule. We have some wiggle room in case anything goes inexplicably and horribly wrong, but do try to complete your daily tasks to the best of your abilities. Kepler, you have experience with planet exploration. Are there any words you would like to add?'

'Yeah.' He drawls. 'I do, thank you for asking.' He clears his throat and shuffles in his seat as much as the safety straps will allow. 'This isn't a vacation, people. You all have your individual tasks to accomplish during our time down on Vesta. But our overall mission? Is to find out whether or not Vesta is a hostile planet, or if it holds potential to be a major future landmark for ESSE. Until we reach that point, you must assume that Vesta is, in fact, a hostile environment and your life is in danger. Understood?'

A few seconds tick by in silence. The station hums with electricity coursing through expensive machinery, and nothing else. 

'I don't like having to repeat myself.' He says. Instantly the comms fill up with overlapping voices declaring variations of 'Yes Sir's. The hardened fear of authority and imminent death is strong in their small voices. Kepler reminds himself that these people are only scientists, not soldiers. But he'd already made a promise to Lovelace that each of these astronauts would make it back to Earth alive. And experience has shown coddling won't suffice. 

'Very good. Captain? Take us away.'

Lovelace slides her helmet on and locks it into place. The reflective material of the visor obscures her face entirely and shows only her crew, faceless too, looking back at her. She takes her seat, buckles in, and powers on the engine. With a jolt, the shuttle undocks from the Helios and begins its freefall into Vesta's atmosphere. 

The plummet is slow, but gravity digs her claws into them within seconds and drags them violently toward Vesta's sea of blue swirling clouds. Every window on the shuttle explodes in white light as the shuttle catches fire. Somewhere in front of him, Huey starts to breathe heavily. Then a single terrible retch assaults the comms. 

'Guys? I think I'm gonna— I think I might—'

' _Don't_ ' Kepler orders. The retching stops and Kepler doesn't know if Huey managed to hold it down or if he swallowed his own vomit, but he hears Baxter sigh in relief and thank The Lord. 

Once the shuttle cracks through the first layer of clouds, Lovelace loses all visibility and slows the shuttle's speed dramatically. The various screens on her navigation console display their altitude and precise position due to the dozens of probes sent down ahead of time. Narrow, slanted windows on both sides of the shuttle show only swirling clouds that are entirely opaque and unending. It's not unlike plunging into the unmapped oceans of Earth. Dark, scary, and very blue. 

'We're coming up on the surface,' Lovelace announces, nearly half an hour after leaving the Helios. Visibility is still less than 10%. 'Scans indicate we're 30 meters away from the surface. I'm extending the landing module. 20 meters. 10 meters. Contact in 3... 2... 1.'

As far as landings go, Kepler expected much worse. Was braced for it, with loose muscles and proper position. Rough landings are what these shuttles are made for. Kepler himself has had his fair share of rough landings, and the resulting injuries, loss of equipment, and on one occasion, and entirely wrecked shuttle. 

They hit the surface of Vesta with a minor tremor and continue to sink several feet into whatever substance they just landed in. Kepler’s body still feels like it's falling when Lovelace turns off the engine. The shuttle clicks metallically as the jets begin to cool down. 

'Okay. We made it.' Says Lovelace, sounding winded. 'Cool. Alright. How is everyone? Give me a roll call.' She waits for everyone to confirm that they're still alive and breathing before unbuckling herself from her seat. Without standing up, she slips back into her Captain Voice. 

'Visibility is still less than ideal, but the radars aren't picking up anything in the vicinity. Winds are relatively calm, so there's no point trying to wait for his blue stuff to clear up. Our supply drop hit the surface before us, about two miles south from here. That's our target. Kepler, if you would please lead the team out?'

'Yes, Sir.'

Kepler unclips his various safety fastenings. They clank against each other when he stands up on legs that- for all he knows- have been pulverized to jelly. 

The floor of the shuttle creaks under his weight. His metal plated soles clank with each step to the airlock. It's too early to tell how strong Vesta's gravity is with all his senses going haywire. At the door he stops and regards the array of astronauts watching his every move. 

'Turn on your headlights before you exit the shuttle. Come down the ladder one at a time, and take your time. I know it's exciting but do try not to hurt yourselves on the very first day.' He clicks on his own headlight and flicks out a quick salute. 'See you at the bottom.'

As soon as the door is unlatched it springs open of its own accord. Kepler has to blink a few times to adjust his eyes, but there's nothing to adjust to. Only a bluish swirling fog that dances in the cone of light extending from the top of his spacesuit. 

Immediately apparent is the heat. It kicks his suit's cooling system into overdrive as he grabs hold of the ladder. Kepler's feet hit the ground after making it down all 30 rungs, and he officially makes first contact with Planet Vesta. 

The ground is the color of dull copper, and comprised of a porous, spongy material. Which explains why the shuttle sank so much after landing in it. It sinks significantly less under the weight of his own two feet, though it does still dip an inch or two. A cloudy orange material oozes out of the pores with each step he takes. It bubbles up and flows downwind, out of sight.

Kepler tries to determine a loose estimate for how bad the visibility is, but with their shuttle being the only object in sight, and a small one at that, it offers no insight. There are no other landmarks nearby, or within visibility range. The blue fog is too thick to even see the position of the sun, much less anything that may be lurking just a few feet away. 

Though it isn't entirely pitch black. At a closer look, Kepler sees flashes of some kind of white, or highly reflective, particle dancing in the indigo fog. 

Eiffel lands next to him with barely a sound. The ring of light on the inner rim of his helmet lights up his face with a soft golden glow. Flashes of those silvery particles dance in the light between them. The expression on Eiffel's face is a mixture of awe, fear, determination, and excitement, with maybe an undertone of nausea. 

Kepler resolves to immortalize it in memory. 

He reaches his arm out to squeeze Eiffel's shoulder. With two simple hand gestures he asks Eiffel if he's okay. Eiffel mimics the shoulder squeeze on Kepler and nods. Then he steps to Kepler's side to wait for the rest of the crew to gather.

'It's like we're underwater.' Whispers Kim as she steps off the ladder. 'This is so freaky.'

'Listen, I signed up to be an astronaut because I'm afraid of the ocean.' Says Fi, while still climbing down. 'There better not be any freaky shit on this planet or else I'll quit.' 

'I hope that for the sake of our lives, there isn't any 'freaky shit' on this planet.' Huey adds. Kepler doesn't miss the way he plunkers closer to him as he says it. 

'Would make good job experience.' Says Vova. 'Good for resume. Just saying.' He shrugs. 

'If it makes you guys feel any better, the fact that we haven't been attacked yet is usually a pretty good sign for a lack of hostile intelligent life.' Says Kepler.

'Always stick to the facts.' Huey mumbles. 

Lovelace is the last one to exit the shuttle. She shoves the door closed and soundlessly joins her crew on the pillowy ground. They shuffle into a semicircle around her and cast their lights onto her body. Encased in her clean white spacesuit, she reflects the light spectacularly, as if she is some sort of ghostly apparition. Or an angel. 

'Crew of the U.S.S. Helios' She begins, her voice coming through clearly in their comms. 'We are now the first humans to walk the surface of Planet Vesta. We have a lot of work to do here over the next year and a half. In the following weeks we will explore as much as Vesta has to offer. It will be challenging. There will be obstacles, and danger, and who-knows-what-else. But we made it. We made it.'

Eerie silence churns in the spaces between her words. She claps her hands together once. 'Now then. Let's go make sure we have a place to sleep tonight. Our supplies are waiting for us just a couple of miles away, so we're going on a bit of a hike. We'll make a light trail from here to there, using the lights stowed in the bottom of the landing shuttle. Stick to the trail at all times. Do not wander away under any circumstances. Hold on to the string if you need to. And remember the buddy system. There's an odd number of us without Hera so I'll be joining Kim and Wellington.'

The lights are a series of LEDs attached to the tops of extendable poles. Every 40 feet they hammer a pole into the sponge and thread a thick metal rope through a small hoop on the poles. Despite how bright they are, the lights become mere hazy blobs as they trek on and take turns hammering in one pole after another. 

At 100 feet they completely lose sight of the red hazard lights on the landing shuttle. They continue on into the unknown with only Lovelace guiding them to the supply drop. 

Out here the silence is thick, and bears down on them like woolen blankets. Even the metal clanking of the hammer driving the poles into the ground gets drowned out and muffled by the thick fog. The sponge underfoot absorbs their footsteps and gives back the illusion of walking on clouds. 

'We're almost there.' Says Lovelace after nearly two hours of walking. 'The tracking signal is coming from just ahead of us.'

Sure enough, in just a few more feet, a dim silhouette comes into view. The supply drop is a large rectangular crate with stripes of reflective paint along its corners. It sits on a raised edge of stone, void of sponge, some 10 feet above them. Luckily, the stone is jaggy enough to climb without difficulty. The top of the stone outcrop is porous, too, and covered in a strange hexagonal lattice pattern of soft algae-like growth. 

It takes a bit of heavy lifting to unpack most of the essential supplies. 

Kepler and Eiffel busy themselves with setting up the Habitat Tent while the others get to work setting up machinery and life-support systems. Lovelace and Huey lay out solar panels for if the fog ever clears, and unpackage the large batteries they'll use in the meantime.

'This is just like camping.' Says Kepler, tediously drilling a titanium rod into the stone to hold the dome-shaped tent down. 

'Except way more dangerous.' Replies Eiffel while securing the external ventilation tubes. 'Extreme camping. With less bugs.'

'That remains to be seen.'

Eiffel shoots him a look and Kepler gives his shoulder a nudge. 

'It'll feel a lot safer out here once we get the tent set up. Here, let's go ahead and use the weighted pikes for the tent. We can use the regular ones for everything else. This stone is softer than it looks.' 

Lovelace calls it a day once the Habitat Tent is fully finished and the Oxygenator is functional. The first airlocked door leads to a room kindly dubbed the 'Purification Room'. A chemical wash douses their suits to kill bacteria and toxins, and a high powered ventilation system dries the material and removes any lingering foreign particles from the air. The 2nd airlock opens into a large, empty living space. Kepler is the first to take his helmet off, entirely trusting the Habitat Tent to keep him from immediately combusting or asphyxiating. The others cautiously follow when they see he doesn't, in fact, drop dead. 

Vacuum packaged food, bedding, and hygienics get passed around like Christmas gifts. They devour dinner in near-silence, too hungry and tired to make small talk. Afterwards, privacy curtains go up to divide the tent into familiar nooks and shapes.

Eiffel plops his bedroll down two feet away from Kepler's and pulls out a laptop from one of the smaller cargo crates. After minutes of keyboard clacking and sporadic clicking, Hera's voice streams through the laptop's speakers. Sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, Eiffel recounts their day to Hera while sending the footage recorded by his helmet cam. Kepler falls asleep to his voice, droning on about mist and sponges and gravity and stomach aches and camping, and feeling so, so tiny and precious. 

Not after long his words fall apart into cottoned noise, drifting through Kepler's mind without aim or purpose. 

It fades, and then so does everything else. 

-

The opportunity for Kepler to test the extent of his body's new limits comes by sooner than expected, and by complete accident. 

In the middle of their third night on Vesta, the entire crew sits wide awake in their bed-clothes while outside the tent a massive wind storm howls and threatens to level their camp. The tent would hold out. It was built to outstand conditions much worse than this. But the deafening racket was enough to toss them awake and out of their beds. 

Kim had quickly busted out a pack of playing cards, which attracted the attention of Lovelace, Huey, and Eiffel. They sit now in the center of the 'kitchen' with their hundredth game of poker sprawled on the floor between them. Fi watches from the side, insisting on being too tired to play. Perched on a nearby folding chair, Wellington is wrapped up in her blankets with a book propped on her knee. Baxter restlessly paces the perimeter of the tent seemingly on auto-pilot. Vova lays on top of his bedroll and proclaims that he is resting his eyes. 

Kepler sets down his third cup of coffee, empty now. It clinks against the smooth tabletop. Baxter rolls to a sudden stop and looks at the cup with tired eyes. 

'I'm going out there.' He says. 'Someone needs to check on the equipment.'

Kepler swings to his feet and cracks his knuckles, eager to put an end to Baxter's pacing. 'I'll grab a few tarps and meet you at the door.' 

Vova rises from his bed and joins them wordlessly, yanking on his spacesuit with sheer muscle memory. Once suited, the three of them step out into a wall of wind. 

It turns out that none of the equipment lockers have been damaged or blown away, but they tarp them anyway just to be safe. 

They succeed in securing tarps over two lockers without any issues, and most of the third. In hindsight, the most likely cause of their negligence was a combination of sleepiness and relief at nearly finishing the job. And maybe it wasn't. Maybe the outcome would've been exactly the same even if they'd noticed the loose sheet metal hurting toward them at a deadly speed. But it was human nature to make excuses. After all, excuses allow us to rationalize drastic mistakes. They allow us to make peace with happenstance. 

Miraculously the thick blue fog persists even now, through the hurricane-level winds, and feels thicker than ever, effectively blinding them. The wind is too loud for them to hear their own thoughts much less any loose debris whirling by. 

Crouched low and communicating through mere hand signals, Kepler and Baxter each hold down a corner of the final tarp while Vova nails long sturdy pegs through their loops and into the ground. 

Vova is working on the corner held down by Baxter, on the opposite side of Kepler, when the pain hits. 

The impact of a rogue slab of sheet metal tears Kepler's body away like a stuffed animal thrown by a professional football player off the side of a mountain. The world spins as he tumbles, caught by the wind, skipping on the ground like a pebble flung across a lake without mercy. His head smacks the inside of his helmet with each rotation until finally his body meets the side of the water recycler with a loud crack. 

When his eyes roll open all he sees is the dark red trail of blood, hanging in the air like a smoke flare. It spews and rises in a plume from his severed abdomen. The two separate halves of his body are only being held together by a sliver of assuredly impenetrable suit fabric. 

He doesn't hear Vova when he stumbles over and yells in his face. Doesn't feel it when he shoves his arms under Kepler's armpits and hoists him up. Baxter gingerly takes hold of his legs. Kepler tries to keep that lump of blood and fabric and meat in his sights; Otherwise he has no way of knowing where his legs _are_. But his head keeps rolling back further and further and all he sees is blue and the protruding underside of Vova's helmet. Kepler's eyelids are being forced open by Wellington now. More shouting hits his ears, but this time it's louder. For a moment he feels good enough to lift his head and look down. His suit has been removed and in its place are blisters the size of almonds across his entire naked torso. Or, whatever's left of it. His skin bubbles and bleeds and he doesn't know where his legs are. Someone pushes him back down against the hard table and he fights it on pure primal instinct. His fist makes contact with something fleshy and then there are more hands taking hold of him. Shouting hands. Sweaty hands. Sharp hands with nails that anchor him down. They pour a bucket, a whole bucket, of needles on him. Freezing pin prick pain that turns to dry acidic heat hotter than every sun and star in the universe. He is BURNING. BURNING. BURNING. 

A stark white ceiling is the only thing Kepler sees when he next opens his eyes. 

Tentatively, he breathes. And nothing hurts. 

At the foot of the bed with his back turned is Doug Eiffel. Spine bowed, hunched over, ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. 

Kepler lifts his neck. Then his shoulders. He hoists himself onto his elbows and tosses the stuffy blanket from his body and looks. Laying on the bed exactly where they should be are two legs. Two fleshy legs that hurt when he digs nails into them and leave marks when he scrapes the flesh. 

Still, he expects to see burned flesh when he lifts his shirt. 

And instead sees smooth unmarked skin, besides a few old scars that linger from his youth. He lets go of the shirt. A shirt that is a tad bit too long and smells like Eiffel. 

'Okay. This is fine. This totally isn't weird at all. Not one bit.' 

He runs hands over his face and takes a few minutes to breathe. When he's ready, Kepler scoots forward and places a hand on Eiffel's back.

Eiffel startles awake with a loud inhale and turns. And crowds into Kepler's space. Hands moving, arms tangling, chests connecting. Eiffel pushes Kepler back onto the bed with his sleepy weight. Kepler gets a face full of Eiffel's hair and fists full of warmth. 

'Hey there.' Says Kepler. 

Eiffel sniffles loudly and tightens his arms in response. 'Hi.' He says, voice muffled. 'How do you feel?'

'Rested. Like nothing happened. But I know what happened.'

'Dr. Wellington had to give you sedatives so that you wouldn't wake up during the... process. Said it'd be too much for your psyche after Lovelace explained what was happening.'

'That was kind of her.'

'She didn't think you'd really make it. None of us did. Not even Lovelace.'

Kepler taps his fingers lightly against Eiffel's shoulder blade. With some effort, he lets the words sink in.

'So I take it that the whole crew knows now? About what I am?' 

'Couldn't exactly keep it a secret, no. Not when you started screaming and— and growing back.'

'I see. Do they know about the Captain?'

'I don't think so. She didn't mention it.'

'How long was I out?'

'Only about a day and half.'

'Okay.'

'I promised I would tell the Doc when you woke up.' Eiffel says, but doesn't make an effort to move. 

'I can come with you. I feel fine.'

'Mmm.'

'By the way, am I wearing your shirt?'

'Oh, yeah. The one you were wearing before kinda got soaked in blood. We had to get you a new one but I didn't want to go through your things. I hope you don't mind?'

'I don't mind. Thank you.'

'Are you really okay?' Eiffel unsticks himself from Kepler to look him directly in the eyes. 

'...Physically, yes.'

'But?'

'I will deal with this the same way I'm hardwired to deal with everything else. One day at a time.'

'Warren—'

'I had an inkling. That this might be... a possibility. But there was no way to know for sure. Until now. This wasn't completely unexpected. I'll be alright, Eiffel.'

He's silent for a while. Then he presses chapped lips to Kepler's forehead and says, 'Okay. But you don't have to deal with it alone. You're not alone anymore.'

Kepler's first instinct is to disagree. To argue. To laugh. So he closes his mouth and puts them against Eiffel's lips instead. Inside his chest something shifts. Loosens and falls open like a worn book dropped on its spine. 

Eiffel brings him a pair of pants to pull over his briefs (which also previously belonged to Eiffel) and leads Kepler out of the sealed medical section of the Habitat Tent. Everyone is outside at the moment, which means the storm must have subsided enough to continue work. Kepler goes to rummage through the kitchen while Eiffel pings Wellington at the computer station. Minutes later she arrives at the entrance of the tent, helmet tucked under one hand, eyes wide and face drained of every color but yellow and green. Lovelace enters behind her and gives Kepler a long hard look. 

Unperturbed, Kepler pops a CalorieMate cube in his mouth and stretches his arms out. 'Hello Ladies.'

Doctor Wellington doesn't move from the door. Captain Lovelace steps forward first and speaks up.

'Kepler. Glad you could make it back from the other side in one piece.'

'Heh. Oh that's a good one. And that reminds me.' He swings around to look directly at Wellington. 'How _did_ I get my legs back, Doctor? Did you stitch them on or did they grow back Deadpool-style?'

'The, um, the second one. Sir.'

'Cool. That's cool. And uh, what did you do with the parts that didn't make it?'

'We disposed of them.' Lovelace interjects. 'Put them in the waste disposer.'

'Good thinking. Well, that's enough dilly-dallying, wouldn't you agree Captain? Let's get back to work.' He claps his hands and heads for the storage unit to dig out a new space suit. 'Did anyone hold onto the name tag from my previously compromised suit?'

Eiffel pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over in passing. 

'You are an angel. What would I do without you, Eiffel?' 

'Hey now hold on a second, Sir. Are you really planning on going back to work already? I need to do a full checkup. Make sure you're healthy before you go back out there.' Says Wellington.

Kepler stops. Turns on his heels. Raises both brows. Smiles politely.

'Well now that would just be a waste of time, don't you think?' 

Wellington blinks at him, and lifts a gloved hand to adjust her glasses. 'No, Sir. It is my job to watch over the health of every crew mate, to ensure you all are able to perform your duties at peak condition. Both mentally and physically.'

'Just to be clear, I'm not letting you leave this tent until you do everything Dr. Wellington tells you to do, Kepler. It would put everyone's minds at ease.' Lovelace crosses her arms. Her voice is the furthest thing from reassuring. 'And, I want to know all the gritty details of this incident. I want you examined at a molecular level. For my own personal curiosity. The information gained will go directly to me and no one else.'

'Wellington will know.' Kepler counteracts. 'It won't just be you.'

'And what do you think she'll do with the information? We already know what you are. We all saw firsthand what your body is capable of. If it will make you _feel_ better, you can destroy the results with your own hands once I've seen them.' 

'Fine. Though I'm telling you, this is pointless. You won't find anything abnormal. That's how this works. You know that, too.'

'Then it shouldn't matter if the Doctor sticks a few scalpels in you, right? Quit whining and get this over with. Eiffel, I need your help cycling the water purifier. Suit up and head out.'

'Yes Sir.' 

Lovelace puts her helmet back on and clanks through the airlock. Kepler meets Eiffel's gaze for a second and gives him a miniscule nod. Then he heads directly for the medical room and sits on the bed to wait. Wellington enters after having hung up her suit and immediately scrubs her hands clean. When she turns around her eyes are downcast and her fingers twist together in front of her belly. 

'Doctor, is there a problem?'

'No. No, Kepler, Sir.' 

'Good. I'd like to finish this as soon as possible.'

'Of course. Right away.' She takes a shaky deep breath and rolls back her shoulders. 'Let's start with some blood work.' 

It takes close to two hours to get through every test Wellington has the capability to run with her limited supplies. She performs them with cold, clinical detachment. Finally, she sags back in her chair and pushes stray gray hairs from her forehead. 

'Nothing. There's nothing... abnormal. I'll keep looking. I'll spend some more time with the blood and tissue samples. But for now, I've done everything I can.'

Kepler swings his legs off the bed and peels electrode stickers from his body. He reaches for his t-shirt and pulls it back over his head. 

'I don't want to say "I told you so", but—'

'It's too early.' She insists. 'I can still— There might still be something I can find—'

'Something that will prove how abnormal my body is? An alien gene? Green blood cells? A growth in the base of my skull? Tell me what you think you're looking for.'

'Just— something that will show how it _works_. This isn't— this isn't biologically possible by any means— people don't just _come back from the dead_ like that.'

'You don't think I know that, Doctor?'

For the first time, Wellington meets his eyes. It lasts only a brief moment before she looks away again. Down, toward her twisting fingers. 

'I just want to understand.' She says. 

'Then by all means keep looking. Give Captain Lovelace the negative results. Take more blood, run more tests. Cut off a finger and watch it grow back. But don't blame yourself when you find nothing. When every cell and nerve you investigate turns up completely normal. _That's_ how this works. At a molecular level I am just as I was before. That is the reality of this situation, whether you like it or not.'

'Okay.' She says, after a significant pause. 'Let me know if you do experience anything... unusual.' She sticks out a hand toward the exit. 'You're free to go now. Thank you for your time, Sir.' 

Kepler unzips the sealed plastic door and leaves. 

The main room of the tent is bustling now with the entire crew settling down for the night. They all look at Kepler when he enters. And then deliberately turn away. Everyone except Eiffel. 

Kepler weighs the pros and cons of his next decision for about half a second before deliberately making his way to Eiffel's cot. A moment later the curtain behind him flutters and Eiffel joins him in the small space. 

'How was it?' He asks, lowly. 

'Fine.'

'Kepler.'

'For all intents and purposes my DNA is still certifiably human. Just as I expected.'

'That's not what I was asking.'

'I'm fine, Eiffel.'

'I don't think anyone expects you to be "fine" after all that.' 

'That's not really my problem.'

'No, but—'

'Eiffel. _Please_. Doubt is the opposite of what I need right now.'

'What do you need?'

'I don't know.' He throws his arms out. He looks around the small room and at everything that isn't Eiffel. 'There's no manual for how to cope with this.' 

Eiffel says nothing. He takes a step closer. Kepler locks his eyes with a small LED lamp laying on its side on the floor. 

'You came here. You came to me.' He says. Kepler can hear the uncertainty in his voice. He can hear his soft breathing just inches away. 'What can I do for you?' 

Kepler swallows. Shrugs. Shakes his head. Grits his teeth. 'I don't know.'

A pair of hands slide around his sides to his back. Eiffel pulls him close and cradles the back of his head. His stubble scrapes against Kepler's temple. 

He holds Kepler and bears his weight. He takes him, piece by piece, to the bed and lays him down between safety and twisted limbs. Wraps him in cold linen and affection. His hand stays on top of Kepler's shirt directly above his heart and drips warmth and life into it, keeping it whole, and incapable of falling apart. 

-

In the morning Kepler crawls out of Eiffel's bed and pulls the blanket back over the space he'd occupied through the night. Eiffel digs his face into his pillow and remains asleep. 

Padding past the curtain, Kepler ducks back into his own room to rummage for clean clothes. He changes, runs a comb through his hair, and goes off to face the day. 

His first opponent is Vova, who watches him approach the kitchen with his hands clasped in front of his chin. A fork dangles from one hand. A plate of scrambled eggs sits forgotten on the table in front of him. 

Kepler fills the electric water heater and flicks on the power button. 'Good morning.' He says to Vova, who happens to be the only other person in the kitchen. Being an early riser, it wasn't unusual to see him eating breakfast alone ahead of schedule. Neither is the mean expression on his harsh, weathered features. 

Vova sets down his fork and turns in his chair to fully face Kepler. He jerks his head back to the sleeping quarters. 

'You and Eiffel. Is this going to be a problem?' He asks, slowly. 

It sounds like a threat, which is really quite funny on multiple accounts. 

Kepler's snarling grin splits from ear to ear. He leans his hip against the counter as his fist casually meets his other palm. 'I don't know, is it?'

Vova stares him down. Really looks at him, and Kepler doesn't shrink away from it. The chair creaks when Vova shifts his weight back. He runs a thick hand over a fuzzy shaven head. Thumbs at a rosegold band on his finger. Sighs through his nose. 

'No Sir. Not from me.'

Kepler releases his fist. 'Good man. Smart man.'

'My son was like you.' Vova says suddenly, quietly, shaking his head. His head bows over his hands. The ring twists around and around. 'Haven't talked to him in years. Don't know how to.' He clears his throat and sighs again, louder this time. He looks at the place of unfinished eggs like he doesn't know how it got there and stands up. 'Excuse me. I have to... I have work to do. Let me know if others will make it a problem. Even though, I don't think you'll need help from me.'

He leaves before Kepler's brain has a chance to catch up. The eggs sit forgotten in the center of the table and the electric kettle hisses louder than the pounding in Kepler's chest. Numb hands reach for the nearest package of instant coffee. 

Kepler tries shaking it off but Vova's words stick to him, claw their way into his mind and fester there for the rest of the day and into the next. He rides it out. And flips through mental images of childhood as if they belong to someone else. Like a friend's family photo album. All smiles, embarrassing moments, and stiff itchy too-big suits worn in professional photo shoots. 

For the following nights he continues to share a bed with Eiffel. Indiscreetly. They combine their personal quarters into a single shared room and wake up together every morning. The crew members see this happen, and refrain from intervening. 

No one says a thing. 

-

On their thirteenth day spent on the surface of Planet Vesta, the blue fog begins to clear at last. Kim is the first to notice. She drops her excavation tools and hollers excitedly over the comms, motioning the crew over to the edge of camp. 

It turns out, the edge of camp is quite literally a sheer cliff, not 40 feet from their Habitat Tent. 

Their nine-man crew stands in a line along the ledge and together watch Vesta unveil before them as the persistent fog is swept away by a gentle breeze and Vesta's features are forced into focus. 

Kepler feels something nudge his hand and glances down to see Eiffel pressing his palm into his. That living thing in his chest writhes. Unfurls and chitters. Incomprehensible shapes begin to take form around him and within. Helplessly he clutches Eiffel's gloved hand within his and wide-eyed they stare as sunlight breaks through the clouds to wash over them for the first time since their landing. 

The sight is like something straight out of a fever dream.

Colossal spires made of shimmering orange-pink calcite emerge from the blue fog, and clamber over each other to claw silently at the heavens from hell. With no bottom in sight, the towers twist and overlap as one giant forest of dense ancient structures dripping with flowstone and stalactites. Their ridges warp like lettuce coral, if coral were capable of growing supermassive and without water. Like crinkly sun bleached strawberry wafers. Or wavy potato chips. 

Heaping masses of flowering blue moss coat their wide flat branches in soft beds of organic life. Orange pollen dusts the moss and glitters like stars. Pink sunlight drips down the stalactites in pulsing waves as the very last remnants of the fog clears. 

'It's beautiful.' Says Lovelace in a voice Kepler has never heard before. On his left, he hears Kim sniffle. 

'So, we are totally going down there.' Says Kepler, pointing down at the bottomless pit. 

Eiffel lets go of his hand. 'What? Who's "we"?' 

'I'm staying right here. If you die I'm leaving your corpses.' Says Lovelace.

'That sounds a lot like an approval to me, Captain. I'll go get the climbing gear.'

'Who's " _we_ "!?' 

'You and me, baby! It's high time for some extreme extra terrestrial exploration!'

Eiffel grumbles but accepts the gear handed to him and carefully pulls it on over his suit, securing and testing the clasps. Kepler tugs on the strap across Eiffel's chest and taps their helmets together. Eiffel shuts his mouth. 'It'll be fun. If we get stuck they can send an extraction drone to pick us up.'

'This is insane.' 

'But exciting, right?'

They stock a supply drone with emergency provisions and Huey sets it to follow their coordinates. Kepler stops to tuck a stun gun into each of their belts before heading back to the cliff. On his back he secures a pack of microthin rope, which he threads through his climbing gear, and Eiffel's, and secures it to an anchor Vova drills deep into the ground. 

Lovelace opens a 3 way communication frequency between them and herself, and sends them off.

'I'll be on this frequency the whole time. I won't have access to your helmet cams until you get back, so do try to be as descriptive as possible about what you see. And be careful. Turn back at the first sign of danger.'

'This isn't my first rodeo, Captain.'

'It is for Eiffel. Be careful for his sake.'

'Sir yes sir. Are you ready to go, Eiffel?'

'As ready as I'll ever be.'

Kepler double checks the knots on their climbing ropes and is the first to repel over the edge of the cliff. Eiffel follows, and then so does the supply drone. 

Several yards down, their feet make contact with the nearest calcite structure. With the gravity on Vesta being less than the gravity on Earth (but more than the gravity on The Moon), simply hopping from one calcite lip to another proves to be the easiest mode of descent. The deep blue moss catches their weight and makes their landings much softer. It grows thicker the lower they go, and becomes not unlike jumping from one bed of pillows to another. Eiffel relays all of this to Lovelace over the comms while Kepler stays alert about their surroundings. 

Kepler's hand flies to his stun gun the instant a flash of movement darts onto their platform from the shadows. A small _creature_ the length of his forearm rolls across the platform and skitters to a stop. 

It almost looks like a dog at first. With its pointy ears and protruding snout and long tail. Except, it has scales instead of fur and six legs instead of four. And hooded reptilian eyes that watch them unblinkingly. When it does not instantly attack, Kepler relaxes but does not let go of the stun gun. He hears Eiffel gasp behind him when twelve spikey baby-sized creatures tumble onto the platform next. 

'Hello there,' Says Kepler. 

He doesn't get a reply. The largest 'dog' stands about 20 feet away while its children begin to devour the moss. It foams in their mouths with moisture and spit. They feed without a care in the world until their parent at last cries out a series of short wails, each starting as a closed-mouth whine and ending in a loud resonate yell. The sounds echo and blur into one singular call, likely signalling to its young that it was time to go. One by one the pack disappears from sight over the edge of the platform. 

Moments later a similar call echoes from somewhere nearby.

'Kepler, that was an animal.' Eiffel says in a hushed tone. 

'Yeah.' 

'A real live animal right in front of us and it had babies. _Cute little babies._ '

'Didn't I tell you this would be fun?'

 _'Boys, I need you to repeat that. Did you just say you encountered an animal?'_ Lovelace asks.

' _Yes_ , it was like this weird scaly cat-thing with spider legs. Sounds like a nightmare, I know, but it was actually pretty cute.' Says Eiffel. 

_'Did it appear hostile?'_

'No, but we should keep moving.' Kepler steps toward the edge of the platform. 'It's getting pretty dark. Might be best to turn on our headlamps, Eiffel.'

'Roger that.'

_'Listen, I don't want you guys out there if there are wild animals around. Maybe you should turn back until we send down unmanned drones to scout the area.'_

'Lovelace, Captain, Sir, I appreciate the sentiment. But this is exactly why I'm part of this mission. Dealing with foreign species is one of my specialties. It'll be fine.'

 _'You're here to deal with possible_ intelligent lifeforms. _Not dangerous spider-cats.'_

'There can't be that many of them if took us two weeks to encounter our first living creature. Not to mention the major ecological shift that changed the entire structure of this planet's surface only 50 years ago? The fact that Vesta isn't just another boring burnt up rock without even a scrap of bacteria to inhabit it is a miracle in and of itself. I say we keep going.'

The line is silent for over a minute. Kepler paces along the rim of the platform and waits.

 _'... Fine.'_ She says at last. _'Proceed.'_

Kepler steps off the ledge and lands in another bed of moss. The structures grow more cramped with each new layer they drop into. Slippery, too. A moist film clings to the stalactites, warping the light cast on them by their helmets. 

Their descent slows down considerably as the platforms become smaller and more dense. 

After an hour, Kepler stops them for a rest. They sit down side by side on a craggly beige ledge with their legs dangling over the side. Kepler feels his internal suit heater kick up another notch to accomodate for the drop in temperature. Their supply drone lands silently behind them. 

'How are you holding up, Eiffel?'

'I think I'm running on adrenaline right now, but this is a good pace.'

'Good.' And then, 'You know, this is kinda like a date. If you think about it.'

Eiffel levels him with a look. 'Don't tell me the reason you wanted to do this was to have a date.' 

'Maybe.'

'Oh my god.'

'Aren't you having fun, Eiffel?' 

'Exploring the great unknowns of a distant alien planet with my boyfriend, miles away from the rest of our crew and the shuttle that can take us back to the relative safety of the Helios should anything endanger our lives, all while I feel like we're being watched by those scaley alien creatures? There's nowhere I'd rather be.' He deadpans.

'Hey, sweetheart? Do I hear sarcasm?'

'Absolutely not, I'm having the time of my life. But I'm picking our next date spot.'

'Heh. Good luck topping this.' Kepler stands up and brushes pollen from his suit. 'Ready to keep going?'

'Lead the way, Boss.'

They drop another level. Eiffel gets his attention with a hand on Kepler's arm. 

'Got any ideas about what that could be?'

Kepler follows the line of Eiffel's outstretched arm to a horizontal line of light in the distance. 

_'What is it?'_ Lovelace's voice crackles.

'Not a clue.' Kepler turns off his headlamp. 'I think we've nearly reached the bottom of... whatever this place is. There's a long horizontal strip of light ahead of us. No sight of where it starts or ends. A crack in the mantle, maybe? But if that were the case, it'd be much hotter here. It's a cool six degrees where we're at. We're going to move closer to the light.' 

With the next leap down, their boots hit solid rock. 

A jagged, slippery, sloped surface that seems to lead all the way to the crack. They walk slowly, each keeping a hand on the tether in case they slip. The rocky surface underneath gleams in the dim light and it takes a second for Kepler to realize that it's water. 

Running water. 

Thin rivers of liquid flow down the rock toward the light. Eiffel crouches down to touch it. His thick gloved fingers disrupt the flow of the nearest stream. He relays this information to Lovelace. 

_'Wait, seriously? Can you see where it's coming from?'_

'No, Sir. It's very dark down here. And vast.'

'We'll have the drone scan it, and find out its material makeup. It won't be as good as bottling up some samples, but it's a start.' Says Kepler.

_'Good idea. How close are you to the light?'_

'A couple dozen meters away, I'd say.'

The ground dips back up into an incline as they weave through the wide bases of the spires and the smaller spindly clusters confined to choke in these depths. Just like everything else they've encountered so far, the crack of light is incomprehensibly huge. It snakes from left to right as far as the eye can see, varying in width and brightness. As they approach it becomes apparent that the narrowest part is approximately 3 feet. Further on it looks about as wide as a house. 

'Captain, we have reached the light.' Says Eiffel. 

'Careful, now.' Kepler takes another step. Holds the tether with a sturdy grip and leans forward to peer over the edge. 

Vertigo hits like a bat to the head while wearing ice skates on a frozen lake covered in butter. He takes two clumsy steps back and bumps into Eiffel. 'Okay. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that.'

'What is it?'

'A drop. Another drop. Who knows how far it goes. I hope you're not scared of heights.'

Eiffel peeks over the edge and looks back at Kepler. 'Are you?'

'Who, me? As if.'

_'Can you see what's at the bottom of the drop?'_

Eiffel takes another look. 'Not really. It's bright as hell. But it looks like a huge, open space. There are rocks. And some glowy patches too.'

_'Well I never expected you to be a poet.'_

Kepler steps back up to the edge and adjusts the give of his and Eiffel's friction devices. Double and triple checks that everything is secure. 

'We're going down. You ready, Eiffel?'

'As ready as I'll ever be.'

'That's the spirit.'

Kepler keeps a tight grip on the tether, leans backwards over the edge, and steps into an entirely different world. 

Once his eyes adjust to the light, his mind reels in an attempt to grasp the magnitude of this rift. An enormous yet far away opening to their left pours red sunlight across every crystalline surface. It bounces against smooth reflective obsidian walls and washes them in broken stripes of blood all the way down to the distant white ground. Thin bronze waterfalls cascade from the crack in the ceiling they dropped from— which spans miles in each direction— glittering and falling apart into finer mists and then into nothing at all. To their right, a narrower exit paints a sloped vertical line of orange sky. V-034, Vesta's smallest moon, drifts at the very bottom of the window.

'I'm... I'm speechless.' Eiffel gasps. 'I can't believe what my eyes are seeing. I've never seen anything so incredible.'

'It's gorgeous,' Kepler agrees, 'But I can think of something better.'

'Oh, yeah? What could possibly be better than this?'

'You.'

Eiffel starts coughing and the rope rattles at the movement. Kepler's mouth stretches into a terrible grin. 'Is something wrong?'

'Don't ever say that again.' He chokes. 

'Why not? It's the truth!'

'It's too cheesy!'

'I can get cheesier. Just you wait—'

 _'Could we please focus on the mission before my teeth rot?'_ Lovelace interjects with a groan. 

'Yes Captain.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Long minutes later their serene descent comes to an end. Rolling dunes of white sand meet their feet at the bottom. Still ponds of clear water sit undisturbed in the dips between hills, glowing in the sunlight. An orange film swirls across their surfaces, which Kepler recognizes as the abundant orange pollen from the layer above. 

Blue tree-shaped calcite formations break up the pristine sand with bursts of color. Most are about a meter tall, but some are as small as Kepler's hand. 

In width the ravine is about 10 meters wide where they stand. Further on, toward the direction of the sun, it fans out and becomes increasingly wider. Behind them the ravine thins to a mere sliver. 

'Kepler, come take a look at this.'

Eiffel crouches near one of the ponds. He points to something at his feet when Kepler walks over. 

'Am I seeing things, or are these bones?'

A flat, spiny skeleton with a flaring oblong ribcage lays on the sand there. It has no visible appendages. But its skull is wide and thin, its spine is lined with long spindly spikes, and its tail forks into two fragile ribbons of bone. 

'Huh. Weird. It looks like a...'

'Fish. This is a fish.' 

'Is that another one? Right beside it? Look,' Kepler crouches down and shuffles through the sand to reveal the length of a similar body. He keeps digging and finds another just below it. And another. 

There are hundreds of them. None are as big as the first, most of them are only about the length of Kepler's thumb. But the sheer quantity is disconcerting to say the least. A mass resting place, right here in the bottom of this secluded ravine. 

The solemn remains of an ecological meltdown. 

This death, this ecocide, is the harrowing result of a natural stray meteor collision. With all of the emptiness in space it was incredible to think two large bodies of considerable mass could ever find each other and collide in such away that this planet's very orbit would shift, forcing it to undergo an unsalvageable climate change in mere seconds. Cooking its surface and killing entire species of life. All this, because of a meteor.

Or, something much more sinister. Something much more _human_.

Kepler reads the sun's position and guesses they have approximately an hour of daylight left. Though a glance at his watch shows that the sun should've set by now. Back at their camp, it surely would have. But dark golden light still threads through this ice-carved ravine. 

'Lovelace? What's the visibility up there?' He asks.

_'Brighter than Earth on a full moon, now that the fog is cleared. You should have no problem making it back.'_

'Good to know.' Kepler checks the monitor on his arm displaying various readings about oxygen, temperature, and humidity both inside and outside his suit. The numbers glow yellow-orange on a smooth black screen. He looks at the ponds, sitting glass-still in their snug pockets in the powdery sand made of fossils. He looks at the clear skies, shifting between oranges and pinks and reds. He looks at Eiffel, suit bathed in red light standing transfixed by the way the waterfalls fall like dripping stars. 'Lovelace,' Kepler says, 'I'm going to take off my helmet.'

The blood-bathed astronaut turns to look at him, his face a shadow. 

_'...Say that again?'_

'You heard me.'

_'Say it. Again.'_

'I'm going to take off my helmet.' He says. 

The astronaut does not move and neither does Kepler. The bones and the ponds and the sun do not move. 

_'Have you lost your mind? For real this time?'_

'Unlikely. Listen—'

_'No. I knew I shouldn't have let you—'_

' _Listen._ Please, Sir. I've been keeping a close eye on the air quality readings. The further we get from that blue moss, the cleaner the air gets. As soon as we dropped into this level of the ravine, there was a significant jump in both the percentage and quality of oxygen. There's practically no difference from the air we're standing in now from the air back on Earth. You're monitoring the state of our suits so I know you see this too, Lovelace.'

Silence ripples over the comms.

_'In all your space travels, have you ever encountered something like this? A planet with breathable air?'_

'No.'

_'Then why do you want to take the chance? There are safer ways to test this. There's absolutely no good reason for you to do this unless you're actively trying to get yourself killed. If that's the case—'_

'It's not.' Kepler takes a deep inhale of the filtered oxygen cycling through his suit. 'In Cutter's files, Project Vesta was marked as complete. There are no records for what, exactly, Project Vesta was meant to entail. But I have my guesses. And I'm starting to think his little project might've been to make this planet habitable. Perhaps as a backup plan if his plan to overthrow Earth ever fell through.' Kepler swallows, and wishes he could wipe the sweat collecting on his face. 'I knew Cutter. Better than most people did. He hated leaving projects unfinished. He'd sooner destroy something irreplaceable then leave it as a loose end. Saw it first hand too many times. But Vesta is still here. And whatever he accomplished was significant enough to warrant utmost secrecy.

'I learned how to prepare for every extreme or worst-case scenario from him. This kind of foresight lies directly in the realm of what Cutter was capable of. Of what he thought was necessary. 

'I don't know how he did it. Despite what you may think, I never heard a word about this planet. But with all the alien tech he acquired I wouldn't be surprised if Cutter owned a device that allowed him to alter the atmospheric makeup of a previously unsuitable planet. Must've felt real powerful while doing it, that's for sure.'

_'Kepler, that's all very nice. But your speeches don't work on me. If you even try to take your helmet off I'll come down there and kill you myself.'_

'If my head explodes you can tell me you were right as soon as I grow a new one.'

_'Eiffel? Are you just going to let this happen?'_

'... Kepler wouldn't do this if he thought it would kill him. If... he can even die, that is. He wouldn't take the chance. I noticed the oxygen readings, too. You can't tell me this is natural. It's too perfect.'

_'You're really okay with this?'_

'No, but what's the worst thing that could happen?'

_'That's not— That's not the point! It's an unnecessary risk!'_

'Sorry, Captain. This is too important to pass up.' Kepler says, tapping fingers against his glass visor. Lovelace continues to protest. Eiffel jerks forward half a step when Kepler loosens and flicks the latches on his helmet. A hissing pop follows. His lungs still as he lifts the helmet clear over his head, waiting, anticipating, instinctively fearing. 

Warm wind touches the back of his sweat-damp head. Raises the hairs on his neck. Sweat trickles down his temple, and it tickles. He exhales. 

And inhales.

Holds it. Exhales. Inhales. Salt and moisture saturate each breath. Eiffel's hand comes up to touch Kepler's chest, to feel it rise and fall. A minute, two, three minutes pass and Kepler feels each millisecond. 

'How is it?'

'Good.' A laugh bubbles out of him. 'I feel great.' He tucks his helmet under one arm and shuts off his suit's oxygen output. 'Care to join me? The weather's lovely.'

Eiffel runs a hand across the metal rim around Kepler's neck. 

''Kay. Fuck. Okay. Just gimme a second.'

Eiffel's helmet comes off like a bandaid, accompanied with a yelp. His eyes are clenched shut, teeth bared, brows raised. One eye opens, then the other. Then he drops his arms and the helmet to his waist and laughs breathily, nervously, questioningly. 

'Oh my god.' He says. 'Oh my god I'm not dead.'

'Nope.'

'We're breathing air on a planet that isn't Earth. Right now.'

'Yup.'

'This isn't a dream.'

'Hey. C'mere.' Kepler shuffles closer to Eiffel, leans forward and tilts his chin up in an offer. The skin around Eiffel's eyes crinkles and he returns Kepler's grin with a kiss. A goofy laugh follows and he crushes Kepler in a bear hug. It doesn't work too well with their bulky space suits but Kepler returns it one handed and presses another kiss to the side of Eiffel's head. 

Stepping away, Kepler looks at the rope dangling nearby. 

'Captain, I think we should relocate the camp down here.'

_'... Into the ravine?'_

'Not quite. It looks like the ravine opens into a valley. Might be a good place to land the shuttle.'

 _'I see it on the satellite images.'_ Lovelace sighs. _'Look, what you guys did just now was not okay.'_

'Uh, Captain? Are you gonna overlook the fact that we're breathing oxygen? Right now? As we speak.'

_'No, Eiffel. But that was really stupid and Kepler could've gotten you both killed with that stunt. I'm still not entirely convinced the air here is totally harmless. You disobeyed a direct order from your higher-up, Kepler.'_

'We can talk about it in person.'

_'Fine. I agree. I look forward to strangling you with my bare hands. Are you going to start climbing back up now?'_

'Actually...'

_'What now?'_

'I think it might be best if Eiffel and I spent the night down here. We can rendezvous when you and the crew land in the valley.'

_'I don't like the idea of leaving you two down there alone. Especially now that we know there are animals on Vesta. Do you want us to send an EVAC drone to pick you up?'_

'No. It'll be fine. You guys should focus on packing up and getting your rest. We'll survive on our own. This one time I was stranded on U-678 in the Andromeda Galaxy, and I had to fend for myself for three whole weeks with nothing but a backpack of provisions, a mini H2O purifier, and a hunting knife. And believe me when I say the residents of U-678 were _not_ excited to see me. I had to get pretty creative w-'

_'Kepler.'_

'My point is, there's enough supplies in our supply drone to last thirty rotations. You have nothing to worry about!'

_'What if another storm blows through?'_

'If it comes down to it, we'll hole up for as long as we need to. But the forecast is looking pretty good so far.'

_'We don't have nearly enough data to make reliable weather predictions, yet.'_

'That's fair. But the ravine could prove useful as a natural shelter. If another storm does come through, it could pass right over our heads. I know what I'm doing, Sir.'

_'Kepler, you know I hate you, right? Like, actually.'_

'Sure do.'

An insufferable sigh crackles through the comms. _'Keep your radios open. I'll have Huey and Fi check on you intermittently. The landing spot you mentioned is 13 miles east of your location. In the morning I'll take the crew up to the Helios to resupply. We should have an opportunity to land again around noon. And please for the love of God put your helmets back on at the first sign of trouble.'_

'I can promise that, Captain.' Says Eiffel. 

_'Good. Thank you. I feel better hearing that from you rather than Colonel Danger over there. I'm going to get off this frequency now. Don't die.'_

'We won't.' Kepler reassures. 

'Later, Cap.'

A quiet click signals her disconnect. 

They walk east until nightfall, following the gentle downward slope of sand as the walls of the ravine split away further and further from each other. 

Behind a horizon of distant flat-topped mountains the sun finally sets and pulls all the heat away with it. A lilac night sky keeps them well lit when they at last stop to make their temporary camp. Pearly white and multicolored aurora clusters begin to take shape in the thick vein of sky visible now overhead. 

The habitat tent attached to the drone in a vacuum sealed bag is much smaller than the one used to house their entire crew. It only takes half an hour to fully assemble. 

With heavy limbs they crawl inside, detoxify their suits, and strip. 

'Now _this_ is camping.' Says Eiffel, unwrapping their sleeping bags and watching them inflate. Kepler starts wiping himself down with sanitary wipes, catching all the sweat accumulated through the day. 

'Be real nice if we had some wood for a campfire. It could get mighty cold now that the sky is clear.'

Eiffel clicks on their small portable space heater preemptively. Then he sits back and watches Kepler. 

'Shameless.' Kepler muses, thumbing at the waistband of his briefs until sliding them down slower than necessary. 'I like that.'

The beeping of their comms startles them both out of their skin. Eiffel scrambles to answer it. 

'Yes? Hello. This is Eiffel.'

_'Huey here! You two crazy cats still alive?'_

'Yup. Sure are. Uh we just set up our tent and we're getting ready to sleep for the night.'

_'Alright, sounds good. I won't bother you then. Fi will check on you in the morning at sunrise.'_

'Goodnight Huey.' Kepler calls out.

_'Goodnight Sir! And goodnight Officer Eiffel. Sweet dreeeeams. Huey out.'_

Eiffel drops the comms and laughs with his head in his hands. 'Do you think they know we're... y'know?' 

Kepler pulls his briefs back up and grabs a fresh sanitary packet. It didn't escape his notice that Eiffel had arranged their sleeping bags into a single, shared cocoon. He sits behind Eiffel and tugs his t-shirt from his belt. 

'Without a doubt, my dear. And that's all the better. Everyone will know that the first two people to fuck on Vesta were two men.'

'Adam and Steve, huh? This has gotta be some kind of work violation.'

'On Earth, maybe. _This_ is a lawless land.'

Eiffel wiggles out of his pants and takes the wipes from Kepler. He finishes freshening up while Kepler plants little kisses to his spine. 

With the walls of the tent being made of several layers of thick, sheer plastic, Kepler is quick to notice when something flickers out of the corner of his eye. Just outside their tent, a tiny spec of light emerges from the sand and gravitates into the air. A few feet away, another spec surfaces and takes flight. Then another. And another.

'Eiffel, don't look now, but—'

Within seconds hundreds of miniscule glowing insects surround them. Spindly and translucent, with blue glowing heads and wispy antennae. Each crawling out of the sand and taking flight, hovering, dancing, down the entire length of the ravine.

'Bugs.' Kepler finishes. 'There's bugs outside our tent.'

'Oh, whoa... but they're so beautiful.' Eiffel whispers. 

Kepler hums. 'They almost look like stars.'

'Yeah... incredible. I almost feel like, just over the course of today, I've seen more than enough beauty to last a lifetime.'

'There will be more, I'm sure of it. This is only the beginning, Eiffel.'

'I hope so.' He says. Then, turning around, he pulls Kepler down to lay beside him. 

In the confines of their small tent, the only sounds to hear are the harmonizing vibrations from the air purifier and space heater. And their own quiet breathing as the world swims with light around them. 

Eventually, as is the case when two people of similar affections hold each other so closely, the sound of two sets of mouths meeting joins the mix.

Awareness wanes until it is filled entirely by one another. They meld together, like two galaxies on a collision course, drifting closer and closer until the point at which they merge. Not with a crash, but like the entwined hands of lovers. Laced fingers and shared oxygen. A brush of fingertips along the ridges of a ribcage. A pulse counted with lips. Nails traced across skin that raise paths of goosebumps in their wake. Unmapped trails of discovery and reverence and wonder. Warmth in their blood like molten rock raging in the relish of this. Bodies aglow from the comet creatures outside, dancing as if to incur the aurora closer, to dip down and blanket this precious joining with heaven's very own blessing.

Kepler holds Eiffel and is held in return as if he deserves it. As if he is one worthy of acting on the love he found in the arms of another. 

'I cherish you.' He admits into the heat of Eiffel's neck. Drips honeyed honesty down his spine. 'I never thought I could feel this. I never imagined I could be this... happy.'

Calloused fingers press incessantly into Eiffel's side. Too harsh. Too needy. 

And Eiffel says 'Warren, I want this. I want this so bad.' He sighs breathily. Heavily. Heavenly. Slides against Kepler so sweetly. He speaks into the back of crossed arms, buries his eyes under an opaque veil of hair. His skin burns. 'Not just—this. I want you all the time. I... I like you so much sometimes it feels overwhelming and ridiculous. God— Warren— You mess me up _so bad_.' 

'Me too, baby. I feel the same way about you.'

Eiffel shudders. Pulls his shoulders up all the way to his ears. 'Why me?' He asks. 'What made you like me?'

Kepler sits back. Smooths palms down sweaty skin. Remembers wanting this. Longing for it during long nights. In the middle of the day. While sitting on his couch and feeling the phantom of Eiffel move through his apartment. While white-knuckle gripping his steering wheel and watching the traffic light turn his empty passenger seat green.

He remembers the Urania, and honest words spoken. 

'"Hear my soul speak. The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service,"'

The words hang in the air. The skin under Kepler's hands shifts. 

'But I don't remember how we met.'

'You do. You and I met on the Urania.' Kepler's hands turn to fists. He remembers the feeling of handcuffs. He remembers the weight of a gun. He takes a deep breath. 'Eiffel, do you think it's silly to believe in fate?'

Eiffel turns his head to look at Kepler with one eye. 'If you say I'm your fate I'll kick you out of this tent. Naked.'

'Don't worry, that's not what I was going to say.' Kepler slides off Eiffel and rolls onto his back. He watches the lights and picks his words carefully. 'I used to think stopping Cutter's plan was my fate. My pinnacle. The end of the movie. With nothing to come after it. No bonus scene after the credits, no sequel. Nothing. Because if something were to come after, it'd have to be more important than the end goal. Something I wanted _more_ than the end goal. Something to come home to. Something I wouldn't be able to sacrifice. And I couldn't afford to have a weakness like that. So in order to get high enough to make a difference, I had to make a lot of sacrifices. None of them were easy. I lost my family, friends, love interests. And myself.

'But at the very moment when I realized I was about to die, I wasn't upset. Wasn't sad. Or angry. I'd anticipated it all my life, and now it was happening, right after I accomplished my all-important goal. What more could I ask for? How could I possibly have regrets?

'And I still don't. I don't regret any of it. But when I woke up... in this body. In the heart of Wolf 359. At the mercy of a being with no concept of death, I felt like I'd been handed a blank script. And I had the freedom to write whatever I wanted in it. The freedom to write the sequel I don't deserve. And then I saw you, and just... knew I wanted you to be a part of it.'

Eiffel puts his head on Kepler's chest. Throws his leg over him. Pulls him close again. Blankets him with his weight and warmth.

'You know, when I first saw you I didn't know what to think.' Eiffel says, voice gruff. 'You came to our ship unconscious and the others cuffed you while telling me about how dangerous you were. I can't blame them. They said you were the enemy. But then you woke up and all you wanted was to know if I was okay. 

'You were a total mystery. And I liked that. I liked getting to know you. I want to keep doing that.

'By all means, explore me at your will.'

'Really?'

'Yes, I-' Kepler swallows. Backtracks. 'You're a good influence on me, Eiffel. More than you'll ever know.'

'But I haven't done anything.'

'Just being around you is enough. You make me want to be better.'

'Out of... guilt?'

'No. Absolutely not. I just like you, is all.'

'Oh. You're kind of a sap, you know that?'

'I'm your sap.'

'Oh my god.'

'You know how hard it is to wash sap out of anything? Yeah, that's me. You're stuck with me.'

'Remember when I threatened to kick you out of this tent?' 

'You wouldn't do that if I busted out my puppy dog eyes, would you?'

'Your wh— _Oh no_. Oh stop that,' Eiffel snorts. ' _Please don't ever do that again._ '

'Did it work?'

'No. Maybe. I'm too comfortable to wrestle you out of here.'

'Uh huh. Sure.' 

'I'm going to sleep now.'

'Don't let me keep you from that.'

'Good night, Warren.'

Eiffel turns his face further into Kepler's shoulder and sighs into the skin there. His arm loosens around Kepler's torso, and Kepler runs his hand along the length of it. He digs his face into Eiffel's hair and places a kiss against his head.

'Good night, Doug.'

-

Morning brings a peacefulness so complete it reminds Kepler that they're the only two people on the planet. 

He sits up in his blanket cocoon and glances from the sleeping Eiffel beside him, to the outside world through the clear tent walls. Vesta at dawn is purple-blue and crystalline. A gentle wind scatters the white glittering sand and divides the nearest cascading waterfall into a fine mist. The ravine walls are wet and shimmery with flowing rivulets. 

The sun has yet to rise, but Kepler throws off the rest of the blankets and swipes another sanitary cloth across his body before getting dressed.

Eiffel groans, half asleep, and burrows further into the blankets. 

'Rise and shine, sweetheart. We've got another long day ahead of us.'

'Mmgh.'

'What do you want for breakfast? We've got apple flavored protein bars and CalorieMate.'

'Mmmpple.'

He tosses the protein bar at the lumpy blanket. Eiffel's hand flops out to grab the snack and pull it into his cocoon, out of sight. The sound of crinkling and munching follows. 

Kepler devours a CalorieMate and washes it down with a jug of water. A minute later, Eiffel finally emerges from his cocoon, hair messy and yawning up a storm. He delivers a peck to Kepler's forehead and gathers up his clothes. 

Sipping at his water, Kepler watches him get dressed. Then they pack up their meager supplies into the supply drone. Trash gets tossed into a plastic bag, vacuum sealed, and thrown in with the rest of the supplies. Kepler pulls on his spacesuit first and clips his helmet to one of the hooks on his utility belt. 

Eiffel double checks that the sky is clear before doing the same.

'Ready to head out?' Kepler asks.

'Yeah, I'm all set. Do you think we'll make it to the rendezvous point today?'

'Don't see why not, if all goes well. It's a straight walk from here to there.'

'Alright then. Lead the way, babe.'

Outside, the world is still dark. Or, as dark as it seems to get on Vesta during this time of year, which is still significantly lighter than any night on Earth has ever been. The air is crisp and clean. A little wet from the mist, and lacking warmth. But not uncomfortable. 

They collapse the habitat tent and slide it back into the supply drone, which hovers back to life as soon as Eiffel feeds it a fresh battery cell and a pat on the head. 

Then they start walking. Dewy sand crunches under their footsteps. 

Gradually the sky shifts from purple to a lighter, pinker hue. Right on cue, Eiffel receives a communication hail as the sun begins its ascent at their backs. 

Fi's clippy voice streams through the comms to ask if they survived the night. Eiffel graces her with a professional report, while leaving out a few colorful details. As he talks, soft sunlight washes over the very tops of the ravine walls, and then leaks down the smooth shimmering stone until the warm orange light reaches their bodies, too. 

_'I still can't believe there's breathable oxygen on Vesta. We all freaked out when Lovelace told us what you guys did. But anyway, we're getting ready to head out, up here. We've just had to run some last-minute maintenance on the transport jet Huey wants to bring down with us. We'll ring you again right before we undock from the Helios. Do you still think you can make it to the meeting point today?'_

'Kepler says we can make it.'

_'I'm glad to hear that. Well, don't die now. Fi out.'_

A few hours later, they crest one final sand dune and find themselves free of the confining ravine at last. 

The change is abrupt, and entirely unexpected. One minute they're trudging up a dusty sandy hill and the next, they're standing at the edge of a wide open bowl, that may or may not be a crater. Considering Vesta's history with meteors, it's not unlikely. 

To either side of them, the ravine walls come to an unnatural-looking sharp stop, as if cleanly cut with an astronomically giant meat cleaver. 

The crater itself forms a sort of lopsided valley, and the center of it is the rendezvous point where Lovelace and the rest of the crew will be landing shortly. Nearly filling the entire inner curve of the crater is a dark red carpet that writhes and ripples like wind on a lake's surface. A quiet rustle accompanies the motions. 

On the opposite side of the valley are the choppy flat-topped mountains that will once again swallow the sun when the day is done. 

Kepler takes the first few steps into the crater, following the easy decline. In just a few feet, speckles of red emerge from the thick white sand in indiscernible clumps. Crouching down, he sees that the blood-colored growths are actually tiny flowers, with frilly petals and fragile translucent stems.

Eiffel crouches next to him and sifts his gloved fingers through the petals.

'How are they able to grow here? It's just sand.'

'Dunno. I'm an expert in many things, but plantlife is not one of them. Vova will probably figure it out within minutes.'

'Hm. It sure is beautiful.'

'Not at all a bad place to set up camp. Definitely better than the deadly clifftop we landed on before.'

'You can say that again.'

Eiffel's communication line beeps. He picks up, while Kepler looks up to try and catch a glimpse of the Helios.

_'Hey, Huey here. We're just about ready to undock, everyone is suiting up now. How are things on the surface?'_

'We made it to the landing spot. It's very spacious. And you guys are gonna freak out when you see what's growing down here.'

_'Nothing dangerous, I hope?'_

'Probably not? I mean, we haven't died yet from being in contact with it. So that might be a good sign. But I'm no scientist.'

_'Have you two still got your helmets off?'_

'... Maybe.'

_'Wow. Okay. I don't know if I'll be able to take my helmet off even after I see you two daredevils for myself.'_

'It's totally safe. Probably.'

_'Right. Well, we'll just have to see what happens, I guess. And now the Captain is telling me to hurry up, so I'm signing off. We'll see you in about 20 minutes if all goes well and we don't end up as just another meteorite claimed by Vesta.'_

'Let's hope that doesn't happen. Have a safe descent, you guys.'

_'We'll try. Huey out.'_

The communication line shuts with an audible click and Eiffel clips the device back onto his belt. 

By now the sky has returned to its seemingly typical orange daytime hue. Without the colossal walls of the ravine hiding most of the sky from view, more of Vesta's moons hang fully in sight. 

Most notably, the massive shadow that is Vesta's 3rd moon Perses looms over their heads and pulls Kepler's attention with its sinister gravity. Burned black by the same impact that vaporized Vesta's thick ice sheets, Perses' wrecked surface leaves no doubts as to why it was named after the Titan God of Destruction. Being several times bigger and closer to Vesta than The Moon is to Earth, its size bears down on their shoulders with an unignorable phantom weight. 

The orange film of Vesta's atmosphere softens the gloomy sphere to that of a dark reddish orb, but even that does little to make charred moon appear less ominous. The sight is heavy enough to burrow into the back of Kepler's mind. 

He feels its presence even when he looks away. 

Hanging low and much, much smaller, are Vesta's 2nd and 4th moons Cupid and Psyche. They trail after each other as two halves of a previously split whole. Locked in an eternal chase that will go on until the foretold collapse of the universe. Trailing dust and debris that may one day scatter enough to form a full ring around Vesta. 

A burst of little red petals tears across his view and rains down on Kepler from Eiffel's white red-stained gloves. He looks up into his glowing face, smeared with a mischievous grin. The petals brush against his cheeks like ghosting fingertips. 

'I hope these flowers aren't toxic.' Says Kepler.

'You're no fun.' Says Eiffel, but he sits down behind Kepler and stops picking flowers after that. His arms come around to rest on Kepler's front. His weight presses against his back like a heavy blanket. It's comforting. 

Kepler takes Eiffel's stained gloved hands into his own and slots his fingers between the gaps. The crushed petal residue on his fingers omits a sweet scent. 

'Kepler, what does this mean for us? For humanity?' 

'What do you mean?'

'Vesta has running water and clean, breathable oxygen. In some places at least. This planet is _habitable_. That's what we've been looking for, isn't it?' 

'Yes. I do believe that's been our mission, ever since we sent people to the moon. But I don't know what it means for us, or what will happen once news reaches Earth.'

'Will we inhabit Vesta? Beyond just building a station for ESSE?'

'I don't know, Eiffel. I think there are problems we need to fix on Earth before we should even consider moving to a new planet. Or else we run the risk of inevitably bringing those same problems with us.'

'But...?'

'But I don't doubt it'll happen, someday. Vesta could be a new home for humanity.'

'Would you want to settle here? And leave Earth behind?'

'Maybe when I retire. It could be exciting. But I've still got a long way to go before that. And many more worlds to explore. What about you? Does Vesta feel like the home you've been searching for?'

'Not quite. It's a little too desolate for my tastes. Too many bones, not enough cute animals. Guess I'll just have to keep looking.'

'Not giving up, I see?'

'Nope. You and I might be space exploration partners for a while longer.'

'Douglas Eiffel, wandering radio host for the great beyond, and—'

'Warren Kepler, galactic heartthrob made of literal stars.'

'Hey, we're all made of stardust if you dig deep enough.'

A bright light flashes in the sky as the shuttle detaches from the Helios and bursts into view. It glows and flickers as it drops like a shooting star, trailing white-hot fire as it burns its way through Vesta's atmosphere.

'Eiffel, what do you think you'll do if you never find a place to call home?'

'You know, it won't be the end of the world. Sure it'd be pretty neat if I did find a place that felt like home. It might even make me happy. But even if I don't find it, if I have to spend my whole life searching, that wouldn't make me... unhappy. Finding a home is still important. I won't deny that. But it isn't my number one priority. Not anymore.' He takes a breath. 'I've realized that I might find something else in the meantime. Something just as good. Or maybe even better.'

'Like what?'

Eiffel answers with a smile pressed against the skin behind his ear. His lips speak wordlessly without opening into that singular point on Kepler's body. 

The shuttle continues to hurtle toward them as if it is a stray arrow sent by Cupid himself. Burning and obsolete, it would be a sweetly swift death, were it to hit. A single arrow would be enough to pierce them both, entangled as they are. 

Even the space between Kepler's palms is full of Eiffel, and warmth, despite the fabric of their gloves acting as a barrier between the real heat of their bodies. Kepler remembers, though. He remembers the touch of Eiffel's skin, the sweat on his palms, the callouses on his fingers and the rough patches on his knuckles. 

Even now Eiffel's hands are solid, assured, and honest. They fill the space between Kepler's palms and leave no room for emptiness.

Within the loop of Eiffel's arms there is light. There is honey-flavored beauty and red-hot blood coursing under thick skin and that nameless effervescent creature buzzing against the calcium fingers of Kepler's ribcage. 

Kepler gives himself to it. Allows it to take the place of that lightless abyss and fill it with gold. It feels terrifying and disorienting and good. It feels like breaking the surface of the ocean and gasping an inhale that you were convinced was out of reach. Hopeless. 

It feels like being caught, at the end of fall that felt like forever, in the arms of your favorite person.

And it feels like waking up.

**Author's Note:**

> credit to our boy shakespeare for kepler's dramatic quotes.
> 
> tumblr: wiltking / wiltkingart  
> insta: wiltmachine


End file.
